It Won't Be Enough
by Minniemora
Summary: Nothing could be said about this unspeakable terror. Phillip's death had been enough of a blow. However, now Alexander was facing the war of his life: a family in despair. With his daughter's mental health gone, and his wife's life hanging by the hinges, Alexander becomes the commander of a new kind of troop. Can he bring them to the other side? Or will their world turn upside down
1. Chapter 1

_Dear Sir,_

 _I hope this letter finds you in good health, or at least a better condition than the rest of your family. An acquaintance of mine told me that you found your wife in a bewildered and disheveled position in the park. He described a large crowd surrounding an "angry and aggressive" man shouting for the people to step away from his "wife." He said he asked a bystander who the man was and it was obvious once he'd been told it was you. Mr. Alexander Hamilton, shouting for citizens to stand back and allow his injured wife some space. Funny, a man with a legacy of cheating still_ _ **cares**_ _for his wife. Funny- a woman with no remembrance of why what who or how- ended up in the same park Alexander Hamilton has been strolling through since the death of his son every morning. Funny, how she has no recollection of what I remember quite vividly. It's no surprise your wife's head is hot considering yours is famously enflamed and you're no stranger to conflict or debate._

" _You have sent my husband to the point of paranoia!" that strumpet screamed. "You and your wife worked in tandem to tarnish my husband's name, his marriage, and his life-" Did you train your woman to speak so defensively of your worthless name? Surely, the brain that cursed her so deviously to marry the likes of you couldn't have conjured the words to speak in such a way to a gentleman. Since Mr. Schuyler spoiled his children, they're famously outspoken. As her husband, you should have taught her better. It isn't anything to worry about, however. I taught her the lesson of respect in your honor._

" _Your husband chose to be a scoundrel, your husband chose to disregard your honor, and your husband chose to spit on your marriage." I assured her. That's not all. For the punishment for her disrespect and outrage, I escorted her home: my home. It was interesting to take a walk in Alexander Hamilton's shoes. Sleeping with a woman who wasn't my own. Afterwards, I lied her in a public place where she was sure to be seen and seen by a man who would take care of her. I find it interesting, Alexander, that while I found myself ravenously ravaging your wife, you chose mine over her. Finding myself betwixt your wife's thighs was far more appealing than Maria's overworked and stale offerings. Although, maybe it was the thrill of the fight. Or, perhaps the satisfaction I felt knowing I'd soon be able to tell you about it; you'd soon see the shape of Miss Eliza Hamilton lying abandoned in the park. At least I left her alive. Now, she can live for the rest of her life being satisfied that she's finally felt a real man._

 _Sincerely,_

 _James Reynolds_

She looked so helpless. My mind was racing, just as every morning before. Flashed in my mind were recollections of my son's death. His face enters my mind, the familiar hand touching mine just for a moment before it slips and I'm left alone again. Empty, and standing stone still. If Eliza joined me in mourning, I would be able to have her to comfort. Comforting my wife at this point would be the most comfort I could find. Not that I deserve even half of that much. To hold my wife in this second, would be enough. As my walk resumes, the birds' voices fade from my ears, as if the simple things in everyday life are too sweet to enter mine. I've seen war, I've seen thousands of dead men in my life, but my son's death is something I will never be able to walk away from. Not in this lifetime.

"Is she alive?" I hear a frightened voice cry out. Suddenly, I'm snapped back to reality, and I notice an alarming amount of people standing, staring, which never happens in this park. Everyone passes, no one stops. Curiously, I quickly walk closer. Someone was hurt, that's what I gathered, and I thought I could surely help. At least I could help find help. Approaching closer, I am even more astonished by the traffic. Just as I reach the swarm of citizens, they part like the red sea at my arrival. It isn't until they do this that I understand why.

"Eliza!" my voice shouts while my legs run, leaving my brain behind and my stomach along with it. They catch up when I find myself on my knees, wiping blood from my children's mother's mouth. Devastating heartache creeps into my chest, and fear tags alongside it. Here's my beautiful, loving, caring, encouraging and perfect bride lying in a cold park with tattered clothing and wounds covering her flawless body. These people simply stood around and gawked while my wife lie here bleeding and cold, unconscious. "STEP AWAY from my wife !" I barked. The men surrounding us stepped back, while the women scurried in every direction. Eliza was breathing at a steady pace, against my chest. I knew she'd be alright, but that isn't enough. She was injured and someone had caused this,

"Alexander?" Flashbacks of my son speaking as he lied dying return to my head. Here my wife is, in the very same lap. "Alexander?" I don't waste time with words, I get her up and I go. We reach home more quickly with my adrenaline than we would by carriage and I can't seem to find a grasp for time. It feels like this hour has run into seconds or perhaps it has only been minutes. The only time that means an ounce at this point is the time it will take for my wife to be well enough to speak. I begin moving around the house to distract myself and notice small things left by my children. I remember their whereabouts and take a moment to thank God they're not here to see their mother lying bloodied and then feel my heart twinge; She seems far worse now that I've had time to view her in a setting I've seen her in before. I decide to assist Eliza by any and every way I could, starting with her wounds. We venture into the bathroom, which she weakly leans against me for.

"Elizabeth, you're hurt," I gently whisper to her. Sounds of pain and fear spring shake my soul while I carry her, but I have to continue. "I'm going to help you, it's going to be alright," I promise. As fast as I can, I fill up a tub and grab bandages to see what I can do for her. Elizabeth's eyes are hardly open and I m6know she's too tired to do much, so I begin to unbutton her dress and she rapidly changes forms. Suddenly, her hands latch onto mine with a weak force that I can tell was meant to be a fierce one. My wife was in a way I hadn't seen before. My wife was fighting, physically.

"Do not touch me," she spoke in a petrified and pleading voice.

"Eliza…Listen, I'm going to wrap you up, alright? You=" I make another move to undress her and check her for unseen scraped, but she tries her best to stand and move away. The fact that my wife is struggling so hard to move makes me fear what's hurting I cannot see. The fact that my wife is in so much pain and so afraid makes me so sick I'd like to know whoever did it so I could slit his throat. A gun wouldn't be satisfactory, I'd need to do it with my hands. When you hurt a man's wife: it's personal.

"Do not touch me!" repeated Eliza with a more alert and panicked tone. "Help! Please!" she cried. Tears formed in the corners of her eyes and my heart burst like a cannon blowing through three ships in one blast.

"Eliza, it's me, it's Alexander, it's your husband," I insisted. Suddenly, her movements of defense calmed and she fell into my arms, collapsing in exhaustion and comfort. She felt secure enough to let her injured state win over. By this point, the initial wounds on the surface were nothing in comparison to what I was witnessing in the first moments of her regained consciousness. What had happened" My imagination was a dangerous weapon at this point, and I wasn't allowing myself the ammunition until I knew the full extent of the injuries. I removed my wife's torn and dirtied dress from her figure and discovered all of her usual underclothing were not being worn. Eliza was not one to step outside in anything less than ten pieces of clothing. Tights, corsets, slips, even her knickers and bra seemed to be nonexistent. Suddenly, an intense pang of nausea rouses me to swallow my own vomit at my thoughts. They'd been _taken_ from her body. By the attacker. Hence her reservations for my assistance. As quickly as I could rally the courage, I began scouring my wife's entire body for scrapes, and bruises: all of which I found. Those were just pricks from a pin compared to the sword that skewered me to see. Eliza has marks, leading from the very breasts she raised our infants on, to her snow white thighs. These marks weren't scrapes. These marks weren't bruises. These marks made me feel feelings I'd not felt before. Feelings as intense as the ones that arrived at Phillip's death. Ones that raged through me before had been intense, but none ever this emotionally twisted. My Eliza had been more than hurt. Bandages would not be enough.


	2. Chapter 2

After staring and standing still like a fool for a few moments, I returned to reality and resumed cleaning the marks covering Eliza's body. The closer I inspected, the more revolted I became. Fingernail marks skittered across her back. There were what looked like choke marks around her neck. By the time my gaze arrived to her thighs, I had passed the point of sitting still. My rage took control from the mouth marks on my wife's body. I slammed my fists into the wall beside me. I shattered a vase and watched the shatter scour the floor- wishing it had been this man's skull bursting onto the ground. I toppled a book case, sending it to the floor and wishing he'd been there beneath its bone crushing weight .I even managed to break a wooden chair in a matter of seconds. I didn't even picture anything for that one, I just needed to break something. None of the things I broke made me feel any better. The head of the man who did this wouldn't even suffice for this pain and anger. My wife, my Eliza, has never done anything to deserve to be treated the same as a streetwalker. A common dumpster for a man to do with what he pleases. What had happened? Was she walking unescorted? I wasn't there to escort her, so who would have been?

"Eliza!" That sunny voice sparked my ear and flipped a coin in my brain in a moment. Angelica was back from London to help Eliza with the children, and I'd forgotten to expect her with the complete chaos I'd witnessed in the past hour or so. "Eliza? Where-" Angelica, a woman I'd normally rejoice to be seeing, stepped into the room carrying a blanket of terror in my soul. She'd not spoken to me since she'd informed me face to face we were never to speak again. After the Reynold's pamphlet had been released, she'd been the one to talk the most sense into me. Angelica stood in the doorway, and her bright eyes turned grey at the sight of me. She stared at the scene before us, glancing over the glass, the disassembled wood, and the books splayed on the ground. Her eyes jumped back to lock onto mine. Being the blunt and confident woman she was, Angelica strolled towards me with her hands holding her hips. She stood at my toes, where what seemed like thousands of soldiers and politicians had done before, but none held a candle to the intensity I felt in this moment. "Why are you here?" she demanded. While words gathered in my mind, they weren't converted quickly enough to answer before Eliza had spoken out.

"Alexander," she whimpered from the bathroom where I'd abandoned her for a tirade. "Alexander," she spoke a bit louder, with a more fearful tone. Angelica had beaten me to her calls by only seconds and I couldn't begin to explain myself. In her defense, her sister's husband she'd separated from was uninvited and surrounded by what looked like a struggle while she lied naked and bloodied in the next room. Her assumptions were not surprising in the least, but the reaction was not something I relish remembering. The woman that once wrote to me, making me feel like a man of power and knowledge, began to try tearing me limb from limb. Her nails scratched against my eye while several of her limbs flailed into my body. It became apparent to me that women may have made better soldiers than most I fought alongside; because she was relentless. Angelica fought without a moment of thought, she just allowed her emotions to fuel her actions, and her actions to hurt me any and every way she could.

"You bastard!" she bellowed. "How could you do this?!" she demanded.

"Alexander!" Eliza cried out, gasping in pain. I endured Angelica's beating, finding it deserved after I'd let this happen by my mistakes. However, the moment I heard that heartaching plea, Angelica found herself continuing my beating by my wife's side. When she'd gotten closer, her movements were more direct and intense. She was so infuriated by the gruesome sores covering her beloved sister, and I was the cause in her mind. I had managed to fight my way to the bathroom, but Angelica was doing her all to make me leave Eliza's side.

"Get away from her! You've done enough, you-"

"Angelica?" Eliza's eyes were as open as I'd seen since my finding her, and Aliza's actions ceased instantly.

"Eliza? I'm handling it," she assured with a calm and direct stance. The younger of the girls found her strength to begin standing, which both Angelica and I put an immediate hault to. I reached out and my hands were slapped away. "OUT!" Angelica was two different women in this moment. She was the woman I'd known since we'd met: soft, caring, kind and a wonderful sister. While still being the woman I'd also had the pleasure to meet early in our relationship; strong, sure, and willing to do anything to put her sister first. As much as my pride and determination willed me to stay with my wife, I found myself listening to Angelica and letting her have a moment with her sister. The door slammed behind me. I was outside, forbidden from the room. _Dying is easy, and living is harder_. I remember. Is it selfish to envy my son in this moment? He will never have to feel this way again. He is living in the Promised Land, happy, with my mother surely doting over him. I'm here: watching the woman I love being injured and kept a door away from me. I hate, with all my self, being kept out where I'm needed. I just had to honor Angelica in this moment and let her have a moment with her sister. It didn't stop me from pressing my ear to the door.

"It hurts," I hurt Eliza wince. Angelica was quiet, but I heard noises from the water and the sound of fabric bustling.

"What did he do to you?" Angelica spoke quietly. I could tell from her tone, her tough act had been a front for a panic and a way of expressing the same anger I'd felt.

"I can't remember…I can't…Where's Alexander?"

"I sent him away, he won't hurt you ever again."

"Hurt me? Angelica, he took care of me." _No.I should have, but I didn't._ Angelica was silent once again. I heard Eliza whimper from pain and felt the torture of waiting for minutes as hours. Moments passed and Angelica opened the door, knowing I'd not abandoned my position.

"Help me get her to bed," the adamant woman demanded of me. Not many women would command a man, let alone a man of my position, but Angelica was not like any other woman in the world. Neither was Angelica. I took note that Angelica had dressed Eliza completely in the moments I'd waited. She watched closely and her eyes did not waver from my hands while I escorted Eliza to bed. I lied her down tenderly so she'd not be in any extra pain. My lips stung with the desire to kiss her, to speak words of comfort, to- at the very least- peck her cheek for consolation. Since I valued my lips position on my face, however, I decided restrain myself in Angelica's presence. The moment Eliza was in bed, I was outside. Outside the room, the house, my lover's line of sight.

"Angelica, I know you think I've done something unspeakable, but believe me, I-"

"I come into my sister's house to help her take care of all the responsibilities she has to take care of since she has no help of a husband. I walk in, see you, see a mess, see my sister tormented and lying in a tub while all in the same moment, I remember the cause she's in such need for any help! How else would I have reacted? Have you not done enough to her? No woman in this world has the heart, the naivety, the care, the-"

"I found her in the park!" I pleaded.

"Your lies are tired and as worthless as you are, Hamilton."

"Alex-"

"I don't address the scum on the street by its name," Angelica scowled. "Her son has just died in battle, her husband has humiliated her in front of the country, and you return to her for what? What else could give you satiety?!"

"The name of the man that defiled my wife!" I responded without a second thought. Angelica stared blankly into my eyes, but with every passing moment of silence I saw her expressions vary. Anger, confusion, sadness, fear and a resounding nausea.

"You're not lying…" she whispered while her arms fell to her sides. "You found her in the park? Abandoned in the park?"

"Like a dead animal, carelessly left for dead," I spat. Angelica and I stared at one another, conspiring by our glances.

"We will see justice," she finally decided. "Until then, keep the children from the house until Eliza's strong enough to speak and let them know she's alright." My children, I'd not even thought about. After witnessing their brother's death, this was the last thing they needed to witness. I complied, unwilling to take for granted Angelica was including me. She may have been using me as a tool, but it was a privilege she was acknowledging me at all right now. "And, Alexander?"

"Yes?" I hopefully responded.

"Wipe the blood from your face before you go."

I stood a well enough distance from my- or my former- home as to not be close enough for someone to pass by.. My children arrived from their daily routines one by one and I rallied them in a group to explain my lie as sincerely as I could. "Your mother has requested a day of grieving alone. I know this has been a trying time for all of us, but your mother's heart is broken," I explained. All of my children, of course, understood. My sons all ran off to find their buddies and even my little Elizabeth ran off to find a friend. Angelica, however, stood staring at the ground, close to tears. My poor daughter had been so distraught since her brother's death, it was beginning to worry me. She was no longer the jubilant child that sat by my side on piano.

"Angelica, would you join me for a walk?" I suggested with an encouraging tone. She glanced her eyes up towards me and reached out for my hand. Angelica was now my oldest living child, having only been born a year after her brother. Angelica was a reserved and kind young woman, easily manipulated as a child, but clever in her own sense. I could convince her to stick to a bedtime without as much as a whine, but she'd pay me back the next morning with a before-dawn greeting. It frightened me at times when I saw how frail she was, even as a young lady. Her arms were thinner than a twig and her legs had the length of a field. A wisp of wind could break her in two.

"Do you think she'll be alright?" Angelica spoke in the same volume a mouse would. I felt my instincts as the strong and supportive father kick in. I had to be my children's superhero, despite my personal doubts and fears.

"Angelica, your mother is a very loving woman, but her heart is too big to break. She just needs a little while longer than-"

"I need much longer," Angelica insisted. "I need…a much _much_ longer time than I've had…" Suddenly, I stopped walking and glanced over at my daughter. Her eyes were planted in the ground, just as before only more desperately.

"Darling, you-"

"I can't handle the thought…the memory…" Angelica had begun to cry, which to this day I'm still brought to my knees at the sight of. For some reason, death and despair I've witnessed aside, my children's emotions and struggles had a larger impact on me.

"Angelica, listen to me," I begged.

"Daddy, I've not been able to stop thinking about his dying. I…I've seen him. In the morning, when I wake up, he asks me to come play the piano with him…he asks-"

"Angelica, what are you talking about?" I felt a strange and tingling sensation shake through me at her words.

"Philip…he's been visiting me, every morning…"

"Angelica, let's go to the baker. You're looking thin," I insisted. My daughter's mental health- understandably- is bending in the breeze of this family's hurricane. While I escorted my fidgeting child to the baker, I took note of each sign she was disturbed. Her posture was perfect, as it always had been. She was reserved, but moreso than usual, and her color was an alarming ghostly shade. As long as she'd been alive, Philip had been Angelica's best friend. They were closer than any other of my children, and when he passed, so did a chunk of Angelica. It felt like there was nothing I could do, which made me do all the more. My Angelica loved birds, since her youth. She spent times in her early childhood chasing birds, much to Eliza's dismay. Once she'd outgrown her days of scurrying, she resided to watching them from her bedroom window. I took her hand once again and lifted her chin towards the sky. "Look," I encouraged. "Your brother is just as free as the parakeets and crows are, flying through the sky with nary a fear or thought." Angelica's chin snapped back to the ground, hiding her resuming years as best she could.

"I wish that were true…" she spoke softly. Instead of making things worse, I left her to the bakery where I chose the most dense and wholesome slice I could buy. I returned to find my daughter standing still and patiently waiting for my return. As I neared her, I noticed a trio of young men staring and whispering in her direction. Life does not show mercy. Despite the millions of swords stinging me, these tots are sizing up my fragile child as if she were a slab of beef in a meat market.

"Angelica, dear, please eat and rest. Gather your strength before we go visit your grandfather. There is a matter I need to tend to, and I'll be back. Will you be alright for a moment?" My daughter stared at the rich pastry in her hands before nodding and taking a peck from the food.

"Thank you," she responded, sitting by the fountain nearby. My feet moved towards the young men, and my face had to have been somewhat threatening by their facial expressions.

"May I help you, gentlemen?"

"We're simply talking, sir," assured the leader of the pack. "After a long day of studies, we need to unwind. Beer and friends, nothing wrong here."

"Yes," I nodded. "Just keep the object of conversation as far from my daughter as your mind is from your mouth." The two other boys chortled alongside me while the punk in the middle looked vengeful.

"What interest would we have in a girl with the meat of an animal carcass?"

"Son, I'd think twice before speaking ill of my daughter," I threatened. "You don't know who you're speaking to, and if you did you'd be on our knees apologizing for your crude and immature blather." I could see in this young man's eyes a desire for retaliation. It was a sensation I knew all-too-well.

"Perhaps your daughter should be the one on her knees. Maybe then I'd find some sort of satisfaction from her body type. It takes no strength to use your _mouth._ " Perhaps it was the day I'd had that pushed me to this point, but that comment would have put any good man in my position. It was as big a blur as when I'd had a run in with the bursar back in college, but much more satisfactory when I saw the boy lying in a stream of his own bloodied nose. Luckily for me, Angelica was still staring at the sky, unstartled by the ruckus. The punch felt good, but nothing would be as satisfying as I needed to berid of the sickness I felt when I remembered where my wife was in this moment. I had to return to her.


	3. Chapter 3

My three year old was the perfect distraction. Angelica had locked herself away in room since our stroll yesterday. My wife was sleeping in our room, aside Angelica who was a threatening force daring me to step a foot inside the room. She knew I was innocent in this particular situation, but it didn't warrant forgiveness from my past actions in any way. Three women I cared for so deeply were in despair. I, myself, was in despair. Yet here was my child, my smallest little girl, dancing carelessly around the living room. Two daughters were more than enough for me to handle. I knew nothing about women or girls until I married Eliza, besides the fact I wanted one. Once Angelica was born, I saw the fairer sex in a completely new way. They were made to be in my protection. Something I'd obviously failed to supply this time. Still, I see my Elizabeth scurry between the comforts of my lap to the imaginary land she'd created in our living room. My child was the epitome of innocence, in a world where I knew no such thing existed. But, here she was. The pure as porcelain child I loved so dearly, with a smile on her face. I begin to wonder if there are any reasons in the world to ever smile again, but then I remember what I'm looking at. Who could withstand a grin at this child?

"She's asking for you, Alexander." _What?_ I turn my head at the sound of my sister in law's voice. Angelica was stone-faced, resembling the courage of her very own father; only more frightening. "I will look after Elizabeth, you go speak with your wife." Elizabeth scurried to the side of my pant leg and tugged with all her might for my attention.

"Daddy, daddy!" she gasped. "I wanna see mommy, I miss mommy!" my child squealed. Angelica took my daughter's hand and gently tugged her towards the door. Flashbacks to the scene of the park reappear in my mind, and my firm answer, "No," spouts from my mouth without the reservations it should have carried. With her wide and tearful eyes, Elizabeth blinked up at me. I couldn't let those innocent eyes see an ounce of what I'd witnessed in my lifetime. Which definitely included seeing her mother in this way.

"Elizabeth, come with me, and we'll play the piano just as your older siblings do, alright?" Angelica gingerly suggested. My child wiped her tears and just like that, her world was bright again. Meanwhile, I stepped into a grisly midnight black room of despair. One where my wife lied victim, trying to heal.

"Alexander," Eliza spoke. It was the first time I'd seen her in a very long time. The real her, not some half-conscious rendition. "Please, sit." This woman, not too long ago, had thrown me deservingly out on my ear. Yet, she was speaking to me like a wife, not an enemy. I sat by her side and reached for her hand, but she pulled it away.

"I've not been able to think of anything but you, Eliza," I spoke quietly. "Who's done this to you?"

"Alexander, what has happened to me is something I cannot speak of. Something I will not speak of."

"I need to know, Eliza!" I demanded. "You know the name of the man who's done this to you! You know-"

"I do not!" Eliza gasped out, bursting into a fit of tears. "I know nothing! I remember nothing! I cannot remember, no matter what I do. I've had nothing but dreams of a man, a man I don't know. I don't know him, Alexander. I don't see his face. I don't speak his name. I don't speak at all. All my life, I've been trusting and open-minded to each and every person I meet… but this man was not anything like a man. He was an animal. He was a shameless, morally impaired beast. I don't remember walking in the park, Alexander. I have to be honest, I had taken a few sips from a bottle." In all our years of marriage, I can hardly remember my wife having so much as a sip of alcohol. Her tolerance couldn't have been enough to withstand a drop.

"Eliza, alcohol-"

"It was desperate and wrong," snapped my wife, verbally scolding herself. "Perhaps this was the world teaching me a lesson."

"No!" I demanded. "Eliza, nothing you could ever do would warrant this. Whoever did this will pay! You may not remember, but I see the proof. No man will get away with this. Not for what he did to my wife." We sat in silence for moments, but Eliza took my hand.

"It's a cruel world, sometimes," she shook as she spoke. "Look around, look around at how lucky we are to be alive right now. We've lost a son, we've separated, now this. Still, we're stronger than our problems, Alexander. You've withstood wars. Surely you can see your wife with her own battle wounds."

"No, Eliza," I insisted. "This is more demanding than the most graphic war scene I witnessed. No man on that field had been in my bed before. None had bared my children. Those men did not have my love, and those men were not you. This hurts me. That's why I need to know who did this…"

"So do I," Eliza whispered. "But there's nothing we can do."

"My Eliza," I found myself chuckle. "There's always something. You'll see, I'm going to find this man and write his obituary by the morning."

"I have your first hint," Angelica spoke up. Eliza and I jumped as our eyes met our spooked and clench-jawed sister. "In graphic detail, I know what happened," I stood up and walked to the letter. Angelica, however, ripped it away and handed it to my wife. "This is _her_ story, Alexander. If she wants you to know, you will know." I felt the pressure to rip the letter from the women, to read it despite their demands. I just couldn't breech that trust until I was sure Eliza wouldn't share. Then I would take action. I watched at my wife's overwhelmed stance turned into hysterics. Her breathing reached an unsteady gasp, which Angelica and I tried to calm with soothing strokes on her back. This only made things worse, from the pain her infected scrapes had left. Angelica held her sister tightly once she'd completed the letter and I was at a loss. Thoughts tried to crowd my mind again, but just before they invaded, the letter was placed in my hands. She trusted me. Or she wanted this man dead, and she knew how to make it happen. Just as I take the letter into my hands, my mind is yanked into a completely different battlefield. I hear my eldest daughter's screams all the way from her room on the opposite side of the house and chase them.

"I didn't so much as touch her!" my son lied to my face. He came from my daughter's room as if it were on fire. "She was acting completely daft, she- she deserved it!"

"Deserved what, if you'd not touched her?" I asked. My daughter revealed herself from her room with a look of pain covering her face, but nothing else. Then, I took note of the hand clutching her side. I immediately turned, shocked at my son's behavior. "What have I ever done to teach you harming a woman is alright, son?" I demanded. There was no response, which led to my invigorating duty of "general" of the house. "ALEXANDER!" I scolded, His mouth opened, then shut, and reopened when he knew better than to smart off for a response.

"She's not left her room in days for. And she's not a woman, she's a girl. A stupid, foolish, girl!"

"I simply said-"

"Angelica, you do not need to defend yourself, go rest your side. Alexander, meet me in your room." My son's expression read mine for me. It must have been more frightening than I realized. After the past days, my son was more than lucky to still be alive in this moment. "You are my oldest son, now, Alexander! You're carrying my name! You're carrying my legacy! Do you wish to tarnish all I've worked for, my entire life, and be known as a violent, woman beating-"

"Why is it my responsibility to be Alexander Hamilton!? I did not chose this life! I did not chose you as a father!"

"Where is this coming from?" I asked, taken aback. "Son, I had no father. Be lucky you have a man in your life that cares enough to stay with you! I love you enough to not abandon this family, or relinquish a fool who can torment his own mourning sister!"

"Yes, well, maybe I'm mourning too!" Alexander shouted. Was I this way? As a boy? As a man, am I still?

"I'm sure, you are son. I am too, we all are. It doesn't excuse irrationality. It doesn't suffice a pass to do as you please. Go apologize to your sister, and write me a letter. Write a letter of all your feelings, your reasons for your actions and if it's sufficient I'll spare you the switch of your life." My son- a sixteen year old young man- was in a crucial state in life. He needed a firm hand, as I remember I needed desperately as a child. We named this one perfectly.

"Sir," nodded the boy as he exited to draft his thoughts. Once the parental rage wears down, I'm reminded there's already a letter calling me to read. I cautiously return to my shaken's wife room and take note of things I'd not noticed before. I had been too happy to see her to make any type of observation, but the re-entry was a time to notice. Eliza had deeper bruises on her neck than she'd initially had, making them more definitively choke marks. Her beautiful eyes were tired and heavy, respectfully so, given the circumstances. When I took her hand again, I noticed swelling on her dominant hand, which had surely been restrained since my wife would have put up a sorry- but sincere- fight. I knew there were lurking injuries just beneath the fabric she was wearing, but I had to push those thoughts out of my head and read this letter. I lifted the crumpled paper to watch it be covered by my wife's hand.

"Is Angelica alright?" my wife pleaded. It was very much like her to put our children before her own peace.

"It was just childish fighting," I explained. "Nothing more." The last thing my wife needed was to worry for our daughter's health on top of her own. "May I read, please?" There was an honest fear in my wife's fatigued eyes. Fear of my actions, fear of the situation, and fears I couldn't quite figure out.

"You don't have to let him," Angelica chimed in. "It's your right." I glanced over at my sister and knew even if she forgave me for my mistakes, she'd never look at me the way she once had. I was tarnished in her mind.

"I want you to, Alexander…I'd like for you to know. I just have to say before you do, that you are not forgiven, but you are the love of my life. I am willing to let you come home, Alexander. I just need time."

"Take all the time you need," I pleaded. "Eliza, let me know who's done this. Mark my face the way Angelica did yesterday if it makes your heart lighter, but let me know who will pay for my wife's-"

"James Reynolds," she whispered, uncovering the cursive beneath her swollen hand. That swollen hand that I had a man to blame for. That hand, those scrapes, the mental anguish, the disrespect, everything, had an owner now. An owner who I faintly knew, but would never soon forget my name. The closure I anticipated was nothing more than anger fueling another tantrum, but this time I attacked outside rather than my living room. I took my gun from room and shot it into the ground just outside my front door. Moments after my actions, I realized my child had been outside at play and the noise spooked her like a horse. Elizabeth scurried off and hid behind a tree from instinct, just as if she'd been taught. My adrenaline lifted from my shoulders for the moment to switch emotions with my fatherly duties. I extended my hand to my child and she stared up at me with the same teary eyes as before.

"It's a frightening noise, isn't it?" I understandingly cooed to her. My daughter leapt onto my pant leg and clung to me for protection. She had it, as well. I lifted her into my arms and took a long moment to kiss her face. She was pure. She was untarnished. She was perfection, and I had no right to scare her. "Why don't we go visit your mother after all?" I decided. If anything, Elizabeth was too young to remember seeing Eliza this way. When I reentered the room, Eliza was crying once again, but stopped immediately when she saw our child in my arms.

"Is that my Elizabeth?" she sniffled. Her face spoke a smile, but I could see the grimacing Eliza below the surface. Mostly, I brought Elizabeth in for her sake, not to silence my daughter.

"Mommy, don't cry," Elizabeth demanded. "Please? What's the matter?"

"Absolutely nothing, my love. Come lie with me, I have missed your smiling face." Angelica glanced up at me with a questioning expression. She couldn't see my plans, and it was for the one reason I had none. Nothing I could do from this point would fix anything for my family. Killing a man wouldn't change a thing. All I could do at this moment was plan James Reynold's ruin, a ruin much worse than death.

"Father?" Alexander spoke out.

"I'm coming, son," I responded quickly. "Are you alright, alone?" I asked my Eliza.

"I'm not alone, Alexander," she smiled. "I'm in fantastic company. Is that right, dear?"

"Fantastic!" giggled our young daughter. It was amazing to see her look at her mother's scraped face and not bat an eye. She was too happy just to see her again.

"Father!" Alexander called again. _I wonder where that impatience came from._

"Did you write the letter, son?" I asked with a firm tone. Alex extended a piece of paper to my reach and stepped away the moment I took it.

"I've got important things to do," Alexander insisted.

"Go tend to them, we'll discuss this when you get back." He wasn't going to get away with lashing out at his sister, but he was being obedient, which I wanted to encourage. My eyes dropped back to the letter and I felt as though the thousands of pieces my life was in were finally fitting together once again. Eliza was safe, Angelica would be fine, my family was mine once again, and Phillip…Some pieces you can never piece back together.

 _Dear father,_

 _I'm not the writer you are, as you know, but I'm doing as you said. Emotions are a maiden's problem, and I assure you I feel nothing of the sort. I miss my brother, and I don't see what else I can do about the situation besides that. My reasons for putting Angelica in her place was to snap some sense of reality into her. I think she's cracked, since Philip. I asked for her assistance with a button on my shirt since mother was unavailable and she responded "Of course I'll help you, Phillip." When I brought up her misspoken words, she looked at me like I was stupid. I'm not a stupid man, and I'm not my dead brother. I tried to give her a break since she's looking so ill, but she kept referring to me as "Phillip," relentlessly. I had to do something to stop her crazy talk. So, I slammed my algebra book into her side and that's the story. I take responsibility for my own actions, but I have no remorse. She's gone daft._

 _Your son,_

 _Alexander Hamilton_

My fears of Angelica swarmed back around my brain and I glanced towards her shut door. It had to have been a slump. A slump I'd surely snap her out of in a tender way. I begin to miss the simple days of shooting in a field, stealing cannons and being reduced to eating horses. Why was being a father and a husband so much harder?


	4. Chapter 4

Sleep had become my only salvation in the past week. It was scarce, but I still relished every moment of escaping the terrors happening in my life. My Eliza was stronger, but her optimism and naivety was daunted by her memories. My children were fighting their own battles, coping with their brother's death and maintaining their own personal lives. The stress was turning them against one another, and I worried about my youngest. My three and five year old children did not understand it all, and I didn't want them to. My sleep was my chance to lie in a land where Eliza was herself, my son was alive, and my world was together again. Then I'd wake up to find Eliza in another nightmare. If my thoughts didn't keep me awake, she'd be sure to wake me every hour. She'd toss in a sweat, every time. Sometimes crying, others grunting, a few nights I've had to stop her screams so she'd not wake the children. When she realized she was safe again, she'd lie on my chest and sob, crushing my heart. My wife, my innocent and loving creature, did not deserve this torture. If I could reach into her dreams and kill that man, I would do it one million times ever.

"I'm sorry," she whimpered. I thought it'd happened so oftened I'd began dreaming about it, but I realized Eliza was honestly apologizing to me for her fears.

"Eliza, you stood by me through every fight and enemy I've faced. I will stand by you for this, with no apologizes allowed."

"Alex," she hiccupped between breaths. "Ander, I see him when I close my eyes," she confessed.

"Then keep them open, Eliza, I'll stay awake with you until he retreats like the cad he is. He won't be able to keep you prisoner in your own mind, Eliza."

"I feel his hands around my neck when I sleep, and I can't breathe," she insisted.

"I will watch you while you sleep, and if any hand is laid on your neck I'll rip it off the arm it belongs to. You've seen what I can do, Eliza. I'm home now. I'm here now. No man will ever harm you. No one, nothing, will ever make you feel this way again."

"I really do feel helpless, Alexander," my wife sniffled in fear.

"What did I tell you when we were married, Eliza? I will never let you feel that way. You'll never be helpless. Not again. Do you trust me?" There was an eerie silence while I anticipated an answer from her, but she never spoke. Until dawn, she slept without waking in a panic. It had been the first time, but I knew it wouldn't be the end of her trauma. At the beginning of every day, I'd been checking on Angelica. Mornings had been her weakest times. When she had enough time to forget her brother's death for the moment, she felt the bullet from his death in her own chest all over again. I knocked on her door with a piece of buttered bread for her breakfast. Her frail body had nothing to lose, and still it had lost so much since Phillip's death. I worry about her health, almost as much as her mental issues. "Angelica!" I call out. There's no answer.

"She's gone, daddy," my Elizabeth informed me. "She said she was going on a walk, with Phillip!" I knelt down to my child's height and took hold of her arms with gentle hands.

"Elizabeth, tell me exactly what happened."

"I was getting a glass of water and Angelica walked through the kitchen, and she was laughing and speaking to the air."

"The air?" I questioned.

"Yes! She said "Phillip I'd like to go out for some air, will you come?" Only, I didn't see Phillip with her…" _At least one of my daughters has still got a sense of sanity._

"Did she say where they were going?" I asked urgently.

"She said that they were coming back soon and that was forever ago," Elizabeth insisted. "May I have a bowl of porridge now please? I'm very hungry." I turned to find Eliza, but I didn't want to bother her with worrying; and I know she would worry.

"How about an apple, love?" I suggested. _Eliza, my dearest little girl, if you ask me to cook on top of my toppling tower of troubles, I may join Phillip for a walk as well._

"I'm very, very, _very_ hungry, daddy," Elizabeth insisted. "So hungry, I need twenty apples!"

"How about, a slice of bread with it?" I suggested with my last hope.

"How about I cook a bowl of porridge for you, darling?" My sister spoke up. Angelica, I'd almost forgotten about. She'd avoided me like the plague since my return, and stuck by Eliza's side every moment I wasn't available to. "Alexander, you go search for Angelica. Bring her home before my sister wakes up." It's so incredible to me how this woman knows everything and demands the same, no matter who or what she faces.

"Ok, Aunt Angelica, but quickly please! I'm weak!" Angelica laughed at my child's youthful melodramatic performance and made her way to the cupboard. If I'm being perfectly honest, I wasn't even sure where to find the ingredients. The air was cold when I stepped outside, adding to my worry. A young woman, in a fragile state of mind, in a fragile state of being, wandering the streets in the dark. Nothing good could come of this. I think of all the men I'd ever met, the good and the bad. Even the good ones had the ability to be bad. Plucking a weak defenseless woman with no escort from the street would be effortless and untraceable. Thoughts of my discovering Eliza in the park sped my pace. For anything to happen to Angelica in this hurricane of anguish would be the last straw for my wife. Maybe even for me.

"Alexander? Isn't it a little early for you to be out and about?"

"Burr, isn't there somewhere else you should be? Another state perhaps?"

"You're the one who looks lost, sir," Burr snapped.

"I've got more important things on my mind than you," I retorted. "My wife, my daughter, the dirt I'm walking on."

"Ah, yes. I've heard many people talking about your wife letting you back in the house. I've heard tons of stories, but none from you. So, what was it? You threatened her? You beat her into submission? I even heard a rumor she barely escaped with her life. Anything to get back in the house with your living children, right?"

"Your slander is the last thing I need!" Burr took a step back, wearing that pathetic smirk across his face like a badge of honor in the class of jackass. "My son is dead, my wife was attacked, and you're smearing my name for sport!"

"Not for sport, sir, for victory. Your political position is gone, after your affair and after your wife's mysterious appearance in your daily visited park. Convenient, _you're_ the one who found her."

"You know NOTHING of my Eliza's situation! I found her behind a crowd of gawking-"

"And now, Angelica wandering drunk through the streets in the middle of the night? The Hamilton family is a sorry sight to see since Phillip's passing."

"What are you talking about?" I demanded. "Where was Angelica seen?"

"I just saw her, actually. In my office. She was wandering around, speaking as if she were completely out of her mind, and I pulled her into my office for safekeeping." I didn't stand another second to let this halfwit excuse for a man taunt me. Burr's office entrance, where he'd come from to greet me, was locked just behind him. That was easily fixable for me, however, since I was angry enough to rip the handle from the wood and let myself in.

"Angelica!" I called out. The office was tidy, freezing, and dimly lit, so finding her was not as easy as walking inside.

"Father?" I heard a small voice respond.

"Angelica!" As I began to search through the medium sized room, I felt envy in my bones. Why did an office like this belong to such a snake?

"Father, I lost Phillip," Angelica cried out. "We were walking, and Mr. Aaron Burr approached me and when I turned, he was gone!" I found my girl when she leapt up from behind Burr's desk and threw herself into my arms. I quickly ran my hands across her form, checking to make sure she was all there, not missing any pieces.

"Mr. Hamilton, I think it's time you and your daughter go home," Burr interrupted. "I'd be lucky no one else saw her in such a drunk and daft-"

"We've had enough gossip for one day, Mr. Burr." Angelica was shivering against my chest, without her coat, without any sense of reality. "You have no proof of any kind my daughter has taken a sip of alcohol, and you can't tarnish my name any more than you already have."

"The evidence is right in front of me, Mr. Hamilton, and it's apparent. Take her home."

"I will take her home, Burr. And before you shoot off at the mouth like a bored housewife, know my children are not to be talked about. You can throw all the muck at me that you'd like to, but if I hear one slanderous word against any of my children, I will end it at the source. I will _end_ the source."

"Daddy, please, we need to find Phillip, it's freezing outside and he forgot his coat."

"Yes, Alexander, you better hurry along before Phillip catches his death out there." The look I gave Burr shot the smile off his face, and let him know- had my daughter not been present- I would have shoved that doorknob through his skull. I led my child outside, and I walked as briskly as I could. Her weak and delicate legs buckled beneath her, from the cold and the motion. While I knew something was so wrong that Angelica could not help, I felt the absolute necessity to scold Angelica for her actions, to give her tough love and try to snap her out of this. I stopped just outside our house and wrapped my own jacket like a blanket around her tinier figure.

"Angelica Hamilton, you listen to me," I demanded. My voice was shaking in desperation for her normal self to return, but I could see the confusion in her eyes. "You do not leave this house alone. You do not leave this house without a coat. You are going to grieve in your own time and accept your brother's dead. You've wasted away to nothing in grief and I'm not going to bury another child!" My Angelica stared back at me with the same expression. She was confused. She was afraid. She began to cry and cower after my anger had attacked her.

"Why would you say such a terrible thing?" she pleaded. "Why would you call your oldest and lively child dead? How dare you! I thought you were a caring and loving father, but all you've done lately is hurt us! I am a woman now, and I do not have to stand for this!"

"Angelica, I like it as much as you do, but it's something we have to take. We cannot change the evil of the world! We cannot wish it away, we have to use it. Battle wounds give us the strength to move on, and live our lives. One day you'll be a woman, and I want you to be a kind, strong, and studious one. You have so much potential, Angelica." Her posture reduced to a cowering one once again, and her head turned down.

"You've tears in your eyes…" she whispered. I am the strength of this family, and I don't cry in front of my children. I have cried so few times in my life I faintly recognize the feeling, but Angelica was right. I wiped my eyes and threw my arms around my child, thankful the search for her resulted in a quick recovery, rather than a missing person's report or a funeral. "I will do as I'm told," whispered my girl. "I will rest until I'm strong, and I will stay inside."

"That's all I ask," my response was. My lips clung to the top of her head for the duration of our embrace, and I lost track of the time I had been holding her. "Now, go inside," I ordered. "Ask your sister to teach you a bit about appetite. I've got business to attend to." As I released my daughter, she shed the jacket I'd placed over her and handed it back.

"Do not leave this house without a coat," she smiled. I took my coat back and saw my daughter back inside the warmth of the house. As I watched Angelica, I cringed, I felt as though her condition was worsening as I watched. No matter what had been said, I saw with my own eyes her deteriorating body, and I knew intervention should have come sooner. Who's to say this conversation would change a thing. I went back on my way to Aaron Burr's office, to finish our meeting. Without a sickly shivering young woman clung to my side. He was going to repeat himself like a real man without having a shield to hide behind.

"Enough, enough!" I heard him calling. "I'm sure we've all heard the stories, but the truth of the matter is, the family is destroyed. Hamilton's homecoming does not threaten us. His daughter's a drunk and only just an adult. His sons are just as disrespectful as he is, and Eliza is still hiding from the public. We've got an election to worry about, and- while gossip is amusing- we've no time for it."

"I'm glad my tragedies are giving you so much to joke about, Burr," I growled. All the men in the office snapped their heads in my direction, falling in complete silence and respect. "I've buried my son, why is that not enough? Why would you hurt me that much more, Burr?" I slammed his desk into the wall and caused him to jump back in fear. "I told you just this morning you would shut up about my children, and here you are cackling about their lives like they were me. My children are not me, Burr. They are not your enemy."

"I realize, Mr. Hamilton." That man could form himself into any type of man in the presence of company. He was such a counterfeit. Such a coward. "Why else would I have helped your daughter off the freezing streets this morning? For fun?" The men looked back to me and I felt frozen. He could destroy my daughter's reputation. His words had the upper hand in this room, and whatever these men heard would spread like wildfire in this house.

"She's distraught, I'm helping her, let it be."

"All I'm saying is, don't behave like I'm victimizing your children after saving one. Your daughter wandering the streets without her wits is not something I wanted to see. Let's face it, Alexander, as easily as I convinced her to step into my office, Angelica was a step away from bringing home another Hamilton to keep in check." The small audience of men Burr had been lecturing had to restrain me as quickly as I shot after Burr with a grit in my teeth. "Calm down, sir! There are men that prey after girls like that, you know that! She needed someone to look after her. I did you a favor!"

"I don't need your favors!" my voice snapped. "I can look after my own daughter, my own family!"

"If that were true, Alexander, you would have been there _before_ I took her in." Most of the anger was towards Burr's arrogant mental superiority over me. The other part was towards the truth to it.

"Burr, when you're ready to face me like a man: alone, I might actually be effected by your useless banter."

"Whatever you say," Burr nodded. "Run home now, you've no business in a political office."


	5. Chapter 5

_The following chapter is told in Angelica Schuyler_

"Elizabeth!" William grunted. "Stop taking the jam!"

"I need it!" Elizabeth responded in a greedy manner. "My bread is stale, you have fresh bread."

"We have the same bread, strumpet! Give me back the jam!" I looked over, appalled, at my five year old nephew.

"William, where did you learn to say a nasty thing like that?" I demanded.

"I learned it from…from…" His cheeks went red and a look of guilt and worry overcame him.

"William?" I reiterated. "Where did you learn that word?"

"I spied," he confessed. "I spied to hear why mommy was hiding. I heard her say it and daddy said mommy was the opposite. Elizabeth is the opposite of mommy. She's greedy and stupid!" William spoke out, throwing a spoon for his young sister's head. I expected the children to be acting out of sorts with all of the things happening around them, but I wouldn't let up on discipline because of it.

"William, go to your room. You can have breakfast when you've calmed down and are ready to apologize, do you understand?"

"I've only-"

"William, do not argue," I demanded. The young boy angrily stomped to his room, slamming the door behind him, and left me with his sobbing young sister. These poor children needed to learn how to stick together.

"Why are there tears in this room?" Eliza cooed. I turned to see my sister standing by her bedroom door. I was still not ready to let her walk freely about the house, since her leg had been severely injured and only just began to heal. I joined quickly by her side and propped her up on my own shoulder, which she sighed over. I didn't care if she was upset to be babied, because her health was much more important than her pride.

"Eliza, please go back to bed," I asked. I didn't expect her to listen, but I had to try.

"May I have breakfast with you?" she asked with her kind smile. "I'd really love some normality, just for a moment?" I had to give in to those eyes. I led her to the table and eased her into the chair by her child.

"Mommy, William threw this at me!" Elizabeth pouted.

"Is that what the fuss was about?" Eliza frowned. "I will talk to him, Elizabeth. Eat your bread and I will give you some eggs."

"Eliza, I've saved Angelica the pork and potatoes, but I've not seen her up yet. I'm going to go wake her," I informed. I didn't want to tell her, knowing she'd worry since the morning was so late, but I had to be honest.

"Please do, I'll keep things quiet in here." I walked down the hallway and gently rapped on my niece's door. There was no answer. After her disappearance the other night, Alexander had asked me to watch her like a hawk. He hadn't told Eliza of her disappearance, and I hadn't either. There was no reason to worry her over something that nothing had come from.

"Angelica, dear?" I beckoned. When she refused to respond again, I opened the door and found her sobbing under her own sheets. I joined her bedside and lifted the covers slowly to reveal her broken form. She wiped her eyes and looked down in shame. The poor girl was mourning as if her world had ended.

"Please, don't tell my father about this," she begged me. "I will wipe my tears and put my dress on, I just needed a time to think. I'm alright. I'm alright." I noticed the shaky and sickly state she was forming. Hamilton had confided in me he worried for her life, but I didn't dare tell her that.

"I've made breakfast, you need to come and dine with us. You look starved."

"I'm thin but I'm full," Angelica insisted. "Every time I pick food up I feel the urge to vomit, and I cannot even try. I feel absolutely miserable, Aunt Angelica…"

"You've got to try," I insisted. "Your mother's waiting for you at the table, dear, let's join her."

"Let me dress myself," Angelica nodded. "I'll be out as soon as I've put myself together." I looked her over once and reminded myself she was the product of the most passionate man I've ever know and the most compassionate woman I've ever met. Her emotional potential had to be greater than any other on this Earth.

"Be quick," I insisted with a kind tone. "I'll find some butter to add to your meal, you need it for those spindly legs of yours," I teased. Angelica offered a small smile, but she was too broken for a genuine one. I reentered the kitchen and noticed Alexander had joined the table. Elizabeth sat in his lap while he held Eliza's hand across the table. His eyes met mine and immediately returned to hers when he felt their sting. I'd not forgiven him, and I doubt that I will. Eliza's smile fell slightly and I could sense she would attempt to mend the peace in the air any way she could. It was her way, to make things as wonderful as they had potential for.

"Things are looking up," Eliza insisted. "We're all together, we're alive, and we're in good health. We're surviving. I'm so happy to be sitting with my family again." My sister's optimism never ceased to amaze me. A woman who'd been outraged by a complete maniac, related to the woman who ruined her marriage, was spouting sentences of gratefulness. A woman who just buried a son and was left raising six other children was just happy to be sitting at the dining room table. I saw in Alexander's eyes, hope. Sometimes it seemed like Eliza was the only well he could draw hope from in the entire world.

"Daddy, daddy, Angelica's still sleeping," Elizabeth whined. She usually spent most times following her sister by the feet. Since Phillip's death, Angelica had been so introverted, poor Elizabeth had no one to follow.

"Is that right?" Alexander asked. He had a mask of playfulness on his face, but I saw the stress. I saw the worry. Even a mask has eye-holes, and eyes told the entire story.

"I-I'm here," Angelica announced. All of us turned towards the young woman when she announced herself. I observed her and felt my heart flutter a bit. I held her in my arms as an infant, when she was plump and full of life. This young lady I watched was a bony and lifeless remain of what her brother had left behind.

"Angelica, come sit," Elizabeth insisted. I saw on my sister's face everything she felt. If ever there was a person that could never hide an emotion, it was my Eliza.

"Yes, mother," Angelica nodded. She staggered towards her family with all the strength her legs could carry, but it was more than obvious she wasn't able to carry herself long. With no food, no sleep and an overload of stress, it was no wonder my niece was ripping at the seams. I noticed the aching desire for Alexander to look away and not see her this way, but he saw- just as I did- the girl was fainting on the very short distance to the table. Alexander sat Elizabeth down just in time to catch his child in his arms before she toppled forward.

"Angelica!" Eliza shrieked. She stood, but was frozen to the floor. We both watched in our spots as he held the young woman like a fallen soldier, only with a closer bond and admiration. She hung in a disturbing and chilling state: she looked like she was already gone. I saw, in my sister's eyes, the absolute terror from the surprising turn of the morning. Alexander sat back down with her lying against his chest. Just as he'd held his three year old, his nineteen year old fit like a glove in his arms.

"Elizabeth, what should we do?" he asked. I watched as he tenderly stroked her brittle hair and cringed when he looked down at the handful that had fallen out as he did so. Eliza's looked over her daughter and I couldn't imagine the pain she was feeling. My mind had a connection to my sister's and I'd seen her suffering more from her bedrest than the reason for it. I knew she was blaming herself for her daughter falling apart.

"Alexander, I don't know what we _can_ do," she admitted.

"Daddy, is Angelica alright?" Elizabeth was a clever little girl, but she was naive and didn't understand the pain the world had to offer.

"She's fine, Elizabeth. Just tired. She's just, tired." Alexander didn't sit for long. He always had to take action, even if there was none to take. Sitting still was something he could not do, he had to try something. I followed on his heels while he took her to her room and lied her on her bed. "She's an iceberg," he growled. "Angelica," he tisked. I had seen Alexander personally give Phillip his medication in his childhood. He was on the brink of death, and Alexander was by his side administering every dose to his son. It was always a part of his character, to do what he could for the very few he loved.

"Alexander?" I turned to see my sister had just joined us, and forced her to take a seat in Angelica's reading chair.

"I'm going to keep her in this room," he insisted. "I'll feed her, I'll give her lemonade, squeeze the juice of fruit into her mouth, I'll make the girl beef tea, for goodness sakes! My daughter is dying!"

"Alexander!" I snapped. "Your wife doesn't need to hear this from you!"

"Angelica, he's right," Elizabeth spoke up. "Look, she's withered to the bone." I looked over at my brother in law and forced him to look in my eyes.

"We will call the doctor."

"No!" he demanded. "I will be her doctor, until there's no hope. I will make her better," he insisted. I knew the real reason was his fear of losing her to an insane asylum, but it didn't stop my need to see her get proper care.

"Beef tea is what they give to fallen soldiers, not sickly girls."

"Maybe she'll start a new custom," Alex sneered. "Angelica, do you hear me?"

"Yes, sir," she spoke above a whisper.

"You will not argue. You will not disregard my directions, and you _will_ listen to everything I say, is that clear?"

"Yes," she groaned. "It's so cold," she shivered. Alexander had the girl wrapped under five blankets and she was beginning to drip sweat, yet she was sincerely freezing.

"I'll make her some tea," Eliza insisted.

"Elizabeth, you will come back to bed," I corrected.

"My child needs me," she retaliated.

"You need to rest, you're not ready to be up for long!"

"I am not the one on a death bed," Eliza bellowed. I could tell from the silence in the room, Alexander felt the same thing I did from hearing her say that. It was indescribable to see a mourning mother in fear of losing another child. "Now, I've paid my time in bed. I've done my healing, and I'm needed as a mother. I couldn't stop a bullet wound…but I can and will stop a malnourished broken heart." Once Elizabeth was far enough away, I turned back to see Alexander holding his daughter's hand, staring over her as if he were preparing to mourn her. Then, I realized it wasn't her he was mourning. That man- no matter how I feel about him- loves his children as much as any man, and here he was watching them all suffer. That was the reason he was so silent. The reason he was so withdrawn and desperate.

"You're lucky I'm kind," he teased his child. "Here, I have this beautiful daughter and I want to show her off to the world. Any other man would be furious to see so much perfection lying frozen in bed."

"Any other man would not be so demanding and rude," Angelica teased weakly.

"Well, if I'm such a leech, maybe I'll just take up some of this bed space. Since it is _my_ job and _my_ money that paid for it." I watched as the two shared small laughs, making the best of such an awful scenario. I knew Alexander had really joined his child under her blankets to share his much warmer body heat with her, but he wanted her to think it was just a game. Just a comfort, not an attempt to keep her holding onto her own life. She cuddled to his chest, grateful that he had been there to warm her freezing form. "I'm not crowding you, am I?" he ensured.

"He acts like he's the first man to ever be in your bed," I chimed in. Angelica got an honest laugh from that comment while the great Alexander Hamilton looked back at me with a very serious and disturbed look on his face.

"That's not funny," Alexander responded, which only made his daughter have a well-deserved laugh. It was strange how the world's darkest moments could force you to fight the hardest for some sense of humanity. Laughter, love, or anything to make you feel something besides pain.

"Yes, the boys my age aren't as threatening in build as you are," Angelica mocked.

"You two are despicable!" Alexander cringed.

"We're only teasing," I chortled. "What boy would dare court a daughter of Alexander Hamilton?"

"A fool," Eliza joined in. Her sense of humor was better than the three of ours put together. At times, I think the younger sister I knew as a child was trapped in an adult container. "Here, Angelica, are you able to drink?" Alexander sat up and settled the girl to a seated position against her bedroom wall.

"She's able," he nodded. "She's able to taunt, so she's able to drink." I watched as Alexander- a man who'd made his way through war, war of politics, and war of life, be so gentle with this girl. It may have been the only thing I'd ever seen him take his time to do. He held her cup and tilted it for her to sip, which her body didn't quite remember to do. In fear for her daughter's feelings, Eliza led me from her room.

"I don't want her to be embarrassed," she admitted. "Only, Angelica, I have something…something I have to trust you to keep secret." Alexander's secrets ere out the window on their own. When it came to being a confidant, my sister knew she'd always be able to tell me anything. "May we sit?"

"You, may stay seated, miss," I scolded. Eliza blushed a bit, but her smile was weak. I knew it had to do with what had only just happened, but something else was wrong. This was more than what I thought I already knew.

"Angelica, I have not left this house since Alexander carried me home weeks ago," she whispered. "I have not been able to trust him enough to let him do anything more than sleep in our bed. I have not so much as pecked his cheek, and I've tried. Still, Angelica…I've felt so ill every morning this week. I've not seen myself this way since I was expecting Elizabeth." My sister froze the moment she saw I had. Stress. It must have been stress. Stress of this magnitude could make any woman ill.

"You're expecting the worst, that's all you're expecting," I comforted. "With all you've been through, Eliza, the stress must be making a mess of your body. I see the tiredness in your eyes. Please, don't give this another thought. You're not…this isn't something to worry about, Eliza, I assure you."

"I cannot hush this fear," Eliza interrupted. "Please…if I'm with child…don't let it let me lose my family. I've only just gotten it back. I cannot lose it to this." My sister hid behind her hands and began to cry into them. I didn't begin to stop her, I only comforted.

"My sister," I whispered. "Please, it's alright. Cry now and breathe in peace. You deserve to cry. You deserve to do whatever you need to feel better, please, take your time." She did just that. I endured Eliza crying until Alexander returned from Angelica's room, which had been past lunch time.

"Eliza." Alexander fell to his knees in front of her seat and took his hands. "She's alright, Eliza. You know who I am, and I get the job done. She'll be fine. She's eaten, had her tea, and it's only the beginning. She'll be herself again by next week." We all knew this was going to be a timely process, but Alexander had no idea his words were comforting the wrong scenario.

"Thank you, Alexander," she whispered. He wiped his thumbs across her cheeks and took her hand in his. As he led her back to her room, she glanced back at me with that look. I could not tell a soul.


	6. Chapter 6

"Pop, why was she crying all night?"

"Phillip, your mother's been a victim of a terrible revenge plot. I can't tell you the details, for her respect, but she's too strong not to hold it together. Your mother is a brave and beautiful rarity."

"I know, dad, but mom's not made of stone. She needs me."

"Phillip, she's got a husband by her side. We all need you, but we're keeping each other strong."

"What about Angelica? She looks like a walking talking dead woman."

"Your sister's…missing you, son. We're all missing you. Very, very much."

"Well, I might still be around if you didn't tell me to point my gun in the air. I knew I'd get shot, and I tried to tell you, but you still told me to shoot my gun in the sky."

"Son, listen to me, it was-"

"A mistake. I looked to you, my dad, as a guide. I didn't listen to anyone else: just you. Now I'm dead, Angelica's sick, and mom's broken heart is never gonna heal. Way to go, pop. You're really some hero."

"Son, why did you have to fight in the first place? For my name? Why were you so much like me? Why were you so obsessed with defending my name? I am a grown man, son! I've made this name, it was my job to protect! You were my son, my pride and joy, the all to my everything! And you were taken right out of my hands! Your pride took you away from me and left me in the pits of the world I didn't even know existed!"

"I have to go now, but thank you for the warm welcome, pop. I missed you too."

"Phillip!" I gasped, as I sprung awake from my deep sleep. I placed my hand on the spot my wife usually lied, and noticed she was missing. That's why I'd dreamt something so terrible. Eliza always kept my nightmares at bay. "Eliza?" I asked. The sun wasn't up yet, which concerned me. Where had she gone?

"I'm here, I'm here," my gentle wife whispered. She climbed back into bed and lied beside me with a stressful look in her eye. "Angelica was vomiting again, I wanted to make sure she was alright. My eyes looked up at the door and I held my sheets to move them so that I could go see her, but Eliza stopped my action. "Alexander, she's sleeping. Please, you need to rest just as much as the rest of us." Eliza's moods over the past week had been anything but predictable. She'd been argumentative, depressed, fearful, and obscenely happy to deny her pain.

"Eliza, I think this family needs to take a break," I sighed. "We should go see your father, go somewhere where things aren't focused on our own misery."

"Angelica cannot travel right now, Alexander," my wife was speaking half asleep. "Neither can I. But you may certainly take your sons, I'm sure they would appreciate it." I thought about it for a moment. If my sons and I went to visit my father in law, who knows what his reaction would be. I doubt he ever wants to see my face again in light of Eliza letting me back in the house. If it had been a child of mine mistreated by her husband in that way, that kid would have been face down on the street.

"I'll think about it," I sighed. "You go back to sleep." After my soothing words, Eliza was already in her dreamland and I snuck out of bed. It was pitch darkness in my hallway, but the dark never scared me. I opened the door to Angelica's room very slowly, making sure to not wake her. When the door was open, I stepped inside and saw her lying still in the darkness. I just had to be sure she was alright before I even tried to go back to sleep. Nightmares came in pairs. After giving my child a kiss on the forehead, I returned to my bed. I did have another nightmare, but it was one I could handle. Aaron Burr becoming president: so unrealistic, I knew it was only a dream.

"Alexander Hamilton, get out of bed and come with me." I woke up, looking into the face of my pale faced sister. Eliza was sitting up in bed, crying, and I turned back to Angelica with confusion written all over my face. What caused a fuss this early in the morning? I turned to comfort Eliza, but she moved my touch away. "Now!" she demanded. In a time of fear, I was almost embarrassed from the exhilaration I felt at her demanding me in such a way. It amazed me how Angelica was such a forceful woman.

"What's this about?" I insisted, staggering behind this marching woman. She led me back to my daughter's room and I felt my heart drop a bit. Not this room. Couldn't my son be sneaking alcohol? Something easy! Something I could handle with the knowledge I had, rather than things I was powerless over.

"Angelica, tell your father what I found this morning," my sister insisted. She crossed her arms and stood firmly while my powerless daughter stared back at me. She glanced down at the floor and shook her head. She didn't speak. "Do I need to show him?" Angelica suggested with a threatening tone. My sister waltzed over to her niece and withdrew a letter from beneath her pillowcase. Angelica fought for it back, but her strength was so depleted she didn't stand a chance.

"No, please," she whimpered, reaching out for the letter. "Please! I apologize! I was foolish, please!" I saw my daughter crying once again and it broke my heart. Only, it didn't begin to do what that letter did to me.

"Alexander, you need to read this. Immediately," Angelica spoke. I was sure she'd not shown this to Elizabeth, knowing she would crumble at the first sentence. I knew, because Angelica was the only one who knew my wife better than I did.

"I will, right now," I nodded. Entering the kitchen, I was the first at the breakfast table, and I took my time with a cup of tea. A note, a lonely space, and a world of chaos spiraling around the circle of peace I sat in. The two women in my life were crying in bed, my sister was still keeping me at arm's length, and here I was with a mystery letter. Although, I'd do anything to go back to life before I read it.

 _My Dearest Family,_

 _I'm sure you've discovered this note whilst going through my belongings. I'm sorry to have left you this way, so soon after Phillip. The truth is, I am not strong enough to be without him. In fact, he's come for me several times. Many nights we've walked together. Many mornings we've shared a laugh as I did housework. What I've realized is, the more time I spend with him, the less I can stand no one else is acknowledging him. So I've decided to join my brother, at his request. He's told me the most discreet way of joining him was starvation. There would be no blood, there would be no pain and I would not be disgracing our name with a suicide. I am sorry to have left, but I am so miserably unhappy here. I wake up with a pain in my chest that I have to face another day living this way. I've lost my will to live, and I assure you it never returned before my death. My only hope is that the sting wasn't as sharp as it had been when Phillip past. I trust that everyone will move on._

 _~ Angelica Hamilton_

 _December 10_ _th_ _, 1801_

December tenth, of last year. It was almost March. My child expected her death three months ago, and I'd not noticed until she was lying in my arms with barely a pulse. She'd done this to herself. A child of mine. I heard Angelica and Eliza arguing in the next room, about this very letter. Suddenly, I heard Elizabeth exclaim in anger and charge from our bedroom, not letting her limp take from her stride.

"What did it say?" Eliza demanded. "Angelica wouldn't tell me what it said! Alexander, she's my daughter, I have the right-"

"Eliza, go back to bed," I demanded. "You don't want to see how I fix this." I tore the letter in two and stood, making Eliza flee without an argument. She laid back in bed and I returned to Angelica's room, locking it immediately behind me.

"Three months, and you never came to me." When I heard myself say it out loud, I felt my body begin to rage and quiver. "Three months and you did not say a damned WORD to me!" I desperately shouted. "Did you think I'd toss you in the ground and step over you? Did you think Phillip's death would make yours less painful? That'd I'd be used to it?"

"Daddy, please," Angelica begged.

"You may think that you are going to die, Angelica, but even if you stay sick, I will fight this until the end. I do not give up on a fight, I don't retreat, I don't back down, and I never lose." I had stood by the door for the entirety of my rant, but now I neared my sobbing daughter. I realized my approach had not been loving and tender, but it came from the same place in my heart. As I got close enough, I clutched her face in between my hands and held her head to mine. "Angelica, do not throw this life away. Its horrific right now, and we're standing in deep pile of s***, but we're going to survive, do you hear me, young lady?" Her beautiful eyes gazed into mine, lost and unsure. Still, she obediently nodded.

"I hid that note…I was trying," she sniffled. "I tried to get better, I did."

"You'll keep trying, too," I demanded. "Until it happens. You will be healthy. I'll walk you down the aisle in fifty years or so and we'll never look back on this, alright?"

"Yes, sir," Angelica nodded. "…May I join you at the breakfast table?" I looked at my ailing child and felt my heart beat again in my chest. I lifted her from the bed, hugging her to my chest and thanking God she was alive in this moment.

"You may, and after, you may also speak with your mother. She needs to hear from your mouth you're alright, because she'll never believe me." I watched my daughter peck at bits of bread on the table before deciding she was full. Her brothers ate plate after plate, but I could barely eat more than my sickly daughter. My anguish and fears filled my stomach with anxiety. I watched as Angelica constantly stared up at the empty chair while she ate. Each time she did so, a small smile crept onto her face, and her gaze returned back to her full plate.

"Hey, Angelica, keep eating like that and you'll be as slovenly and worthless as Aaron Burr," my eldest son chuckled. My other boys joined in with laughter, being the immature and fun-loving children they were. Alexander, however, was too old to get away with things like that.

"Son, you're excused," I insisted. Alexander's eyes looked up at mine and he quickly pushed his plate aside.

"Yes sir," he grumbled, taking his coat and stomping out to begin his chores for the day. Angelica set aside her fork and excused herself from the table. It gave me hope to see her moving on her own, although it was obvious that her legs buckled beneath her.

"I've got no problem with you boys having fun, but you will not join in on the mockery of a family member. Blood relative or not, you boys need to learn that a reputation should not be challenged. It can kill a man," I warned. My smallest boy, only five, looked at me with a fear in his eyes, but I knew it was not too early for him to learn. It was never too early to learn. Angelica did not speak to me after I'd read the note. I thought it was for my sake, but I soon realized that she was furious with me again. To be completely honest, I think Angelica blames Phillip's death on me as much as I blame it on myself.

"I know she'll get better," I finally spoke, breaking the silence. Angelica dropped a dish in the sink and abruptly turned towards me.

"She's sick, Alexander. Mentally ill. That ill doesn't "get better," and it doesn't stop. When your child wrote her suicide letter she killed herself in her mind, and she's given up. Every day for the rest of her life will be lived as a chore. She will never be happy again. She will never be Angelica again!" Had it been anyone else, I would have screamed and yelled and banged my fist in protest. Still, this was my Angelica Schuyler. Forget she was married, she was always the Angelica Schuyler I met initially, a Schuyler sister. I could not fight back with her. When I refused response- the only way to keep from scorning her- Angelica left the kitchen in a frustration. I sat alone now, at an empty table. When I glanced up at the empty chair, I longed to see what made Angelica smile, but there was nothing. She saw whatever made her happy, because making believe was the only thing that could. Eliza spoke with her, behind closed doors, and I knew it was none of my business. I knew it, however, it changed nothing. I pressed my ear to the door and kept a close listen to their conversation that started long before I began to eavesdrop.

"I know, Angelica. I know."

"Mother, he's there, he is, and I don't know why no one else pays him any mind."

"Perhaps Phillip only lets you see him, now that he's an angel,"

"No, he's _not_ an angel. Phillip never died, mom. We thought he did but he didn't ! I know it sounds crazy-"

"No, Angelica. You do not sound crazy. You're a loving sister and you see your brother, in however a manner you'd like to. If Phillip speaks to you, I'd long to see him speak to me too. I'd trade my breath…"

"Mom, Phillip wants me to come with him." As my child spoke, I heard her crying. I still couldn't fathom the conversation. Why would Eliza encourage Angelica's insanity? Why would she coddle it? Of course, she was an understanding and loving mother, but we couldn't allow her to give into her insanity.

"Phillip is my son," Eliza reminded. "So, as your mother, and as his mother, you have to listen to me. Darling, you have to stay with your mother," Eliza pleaded. "My heart has been pulled through the fire of hell, Angelica, and the only thing to ease the pain is my beautiful young girl's smile. My family needs to stay together. If Phillip cannot be with us, we cannot afford to lose another." Angelica didn't speak. I heard her crying once again, more emotionally this time. I could sense the tears came out of desperation this time. Despite what she'd planned for herself, it meant more to her to see her mother alright. Elizabeth was crying now as well. I placed my hand on the knob of the door, wanting to save the day for them. Save them from this terror. Then Eliza revealed something I was not expecting. Something that made this nightmare officially too revolting to keep dreaming.

"We cannot afford to lose another, and we need to embrace the new one we're receiving."


	7. Chapter 7

She was taken advantage. Eliza was never unfaithful. I was the unfaithful, deceitful one in this relationship. Flashbacks to my discovering Eliza run back into my head. All that pain, all those scrapes, those bruises, and that fear. Those nightmares. All of it, was just a foreshadowing of a daily reminded. A reminder to last an eternity: a child. An innocent infant, disgraced to be known as a tragic bastard. A feeling I knew myself. Unfortunately, this child was my wife's as well, and a part of my family. Even so, I had had enough of biting my tongue. It was finally time. The lessons Washington taught me, of honor, of patience, of composure, even he would dismiss for these circumstances. As I'm sure he was already rooting for me alongside my son. I'm pretty sure my life was sold out of seats to watch in Heaven by this point. Everyone was waiting for me to bring justice to my family, and that's just what I intended to do.

"Mom, you're expecting?" Angelica asked with an excitement in her voice. My poor child had no idea…no one had any idea. In fact, the speculation in our gossiping town was that I'd beaten my way back into my own house. No one knew a trace of James Reynold's relation to this piece of our lives. And I could keep it that way, if I refused to seek revenge. Then, came the hardest choice of my life. Was I to allow my Eliza safety, vindication, or peace of mind, I had to stand for her. Least I fall to the feet of a man that was beyond the realms of humanly comprehension.

"Yes, Angelica. I am, and I'm worried for you. You don't want your poor mother having a heart attack over her child's health, do you?" Eliza's words were lighthearted, but I heard the reality in her fears. I knew Eliza was just as fearful as I.

"No, mother," Angelica sighed. "What a lucky child, though, to be the last child of Alexander Hamilton."

"Who said it's the last? Your father and I are still young!" Eliza defended. The two women had gone from tears to joy in a matter of minutes, with the help of this child. How my wife could still smile, I hadn't the slightest idea. My sister's feet stepped next to my knees where I stayed kneeling, ear pressed to the door.

"Interested?" she asked with a sarcasm.

"My wife is pregnant," I spoke, feeling the taste of those words that once brought me the most joy, like poison on my tongue. "For a man who deserves the life I've lived these past few months."

"This man deserves your children? Your wife? Your magnificent sister?"

"Didn't you flee, like a child?" I scorned, returning my ear to the door.

"Yes, after you threw a tantrum like one," my sister nodded. "Now, will you be getting up, or do we need to relocate the American politicians to the hallway floor?" I groaned in annoyance, moving to my feet and meeting Angelica in a standing position. "Eliza was up before you, you know," Angelica spoke with a furrowed brow. "She came to me while I was reading the letter, trembling in a cold sweat. She had some horrific nightmare she came to me for. Why didn't she wake you up? Were you not sleeping right beside her?" My stomach flipped.

"I was…she was beside me when I-"

"I sent her back to bed, immediately. She of course wanted to know, of course, why I was crying. Which made it impossible for her to not see the letter I'd found."

"How did you find it?" I pleaded. _Why hadn't I found it?_ "I'd never seen a trace of that letter, and I'd been with her. I'd been in her room, by her side."

"It was dark, and she was sick. I sent Elizabeth back to bed initially when she came to help Angelica. While I was tending to her, I went through her drawers to retrieve fresh clothing. I found that note beneath several pairs of stockings and socks. Of course, I didn't want to intrude on her privacy. I only saw the words "starvation" and "blood" in the darkness, so I was concerned. Rightfully."

"So you took it," I nodded.

"And ran, to the kitchen. I lit a candle for light and I tried to make it all just a dream, a cryptic disaster from the pits of my imagination. But it was true. So, I felt so concerned and confused all I could think to do was cry and worry for her. Pity, I know, to be so pathetically emotional, but I haven't slept much at all lately. Eliza rushed out then, asking question after question. Truly, she was taking the spotlight off herself, but I refused to tell her what I found. Which caused her to get emotional. She knew it was about Angelica and I wouldn't let her leave her bed after her nightmare, so her being locked away from her daughter sent her into sobs, which upset me even further, and then I looked over to see you sleeping away. So I woke you."

"And here we are. You belittling my spot in my family, and me becoming less and less of a man by every passing moment. Another man is going to be a father through my own wife. It's deplorable."

"It couldn't have happened to anyone more prideful," Angelica shrugged. "Unfortunately, you took my innocent sister down in flames with you. Part of me wishes it was you, Alexander. Then I'd not have to deal with the pain of losing respect for you every passing day. You could have died in a scandal, but at least it would have ended with an affair." Those words hurt me in ways I didn't even know were possible. Which is exactly what she wanted. Which hurt me all the more. Apparently I'd done a better job than my father in law with the lesson of not kicking a man lying in his own blood. I excused myself to be alone in my office for a moment. That moment turned into an hour of trying to hold back my tears and failing miserably. I returned to my lover's sleeping body a short time later. When I cuddled by her side, I took in her wonderful and comforting scent. It was the constant I had. My anchor to keep me sane. She was the spring from which everything I truly loved was derived. Angelica was right, I'd taken down this innocent gem with my own terroristic problems.

"Eliza?" I whispered. I didn't want to wake her, but I was so longing just to hear her beautiful song. That voice could cure anything. She was asleep. Deep sleep. My hands trembled to touch her violated body, meeting her shoulder with my fingertips. She shrugged a bit in her resting state and turned towards me with nary a sound. That beautiful face. Her wounds had mostly healed, but that scrape upon her face rotted me to the core. My eyes glanced downward a bit, to her swollen and bulging stomach. How had I not noticed her pregnancy? It'd only been seven times I'd seen her this way, and yet I couldn't take so much as an inkling? My mouth quivered with words trying to pass through. I couldn't get any of them to leave my mind. They were trapped. My tender and gentle Eliza was a victim of my own creation.

"DAD!" Alexander Jr. beckoned. "Dad!" My heart would not abandon my peaceful spot alongside my tranquil wife, but my legs carried the rest of me away. I closed the door so no noise would disturb Eliza's sleep, and was immediately taken aback from the scene in the kitchen. My son was standing with a miserably frustrated expression painted upon his face. It seemed to fit, considering his face was also painted with a splash of his own blood. I walked towards him for closer inspection, but his temper batted my hands away. "She's done this!" he growled with a stomping foot. "I asked Angelica where she'd put the kettle and she slapped me so hard she drew blood!"

"Son, we both know that's not the story's entirety. Go to your room and wash your face. I'll speak with Angelica."

"Give her a switch! Someone needs to do _something_ about that tragedy." I walked to scorn my child for his harsh words, only to have the door shut directly in my face. I'd named the right son after me. My miniature Alexander. I rapped on my child's door very tenderly, not wanting to alarm her fluttered nerves.

"Angelica-"

"Daddy! I'm so thankful you're here!" The door flew wide open and my frazzled Angelica was trembling on the other side. "A strange boy was in our kitchen, pestering me and calling me by name. I hit him and ran, but I think I heard him again," she whimpered. No. She couldn't be serious. Surely she recognized her own brother.

"Angelica, you know Alexander was telling me you hit him. Are you sure-"

"I hit the man in the kitchen, I did not know his name…" she admitted.

"Alexander, your brother? You know him, don't you?"

"Father, what on Earth are you speaking of? I have one brother, and he's still in New Jersey, don't you recall?" My eyes traveled deeply into the ones I once saw gazing up from my very arms in a swaddle. She was gone. My many attempts to retrieve her only seemed to shove her closer to the edge of a cliff. My little girl. She'd perished.

"Angelica," I whispered. I decided to choose a situation that didn't confuse and torment her, and held her close. "Why don't we visit Phillip?" His grave. As difficult as it would be to visit, it was worth it to shock her back to reality. Angelica could see to Eliza while I escorted our daughter to his resting site. Alexander was a young man, and could handle the hand of a woman's scorn by now. This was my priority. Despite the many things calling my name, my child was the priority at this moment. Angelica took my hand and let me lead her to the burial ground. As we walked closer, Angelica was actively looking around.

"I missed walking with you," she softly spoke. "You're so busy, I never see you." A pang of guilt slammed into my stomach. One of my biggest regrets from my work was the time I sacrificed with my children. I know there's nothing I would have done differently, if given a chance, but I wish there had been a way to accomplish all I'd done and still had the time Eliza had with our children. It's then I realize that all the time I ever spent with Phillip, was all the time I'll ever have. My children will never have another day with their brother. As I glanced back to my startling thin child, I felt my heart pester my thoughts again. I may be too late for her as well.

"I missed walking with you too, Angelica. We'll be there soon, alright?" I stopped to give her a moment to rest, and took note of her sickly pallor. During the war, I remember men lying on the ground- having been dead for hours- and they had a healthier complexion. "Angelica, do you really not recognize your own siblings?" The young girl trembled, looking up at me with confusion.

"Of course I do," she assured. "I know my own brother, why would you ask?" She was honest in her innocence. She could not recognize her own brothers or little sister. Her brain had blocked them. Why on Earth had she come to this when Eliza and I were still perfectly sane? Why had this taken Angelica? Anger was testing me, tempting me to scream in her face and shake her back to me. My fathering heart forbade me from even attempting it, but the frustration inside me did not rest and take it.

"Let's keep going," I sighed. Should I have let her go? Should she have gone from her sickness and I'd kept her alive for my own selfishness? Why was this such an unbearable trial?

"W-what is this?" I glanced up. We'd arrived at Phillip's grave. Angelica's eyes glossed over and she went tumbling to her frail knees. "W-what sick, cruel, mockery is this?" my daughter demanded.

"Angelica, you needed to be reminded of the truth. Phillip had left us. I hate it as much as you, but we cannot-"

"Father, stop!" Angelica snapped, glaring up at me. She turned her head to the air and began to speak once more. "Phillip, you do not need to put up with this foolishness. I will not stand for it and neither should you!" Her small hand lifted to the sky, as if she were asking to be helped up. She made her way to her feet and shot me a scornful look. "How could you stare your child in the face and show him his own false grave? What sort of hateful man are you?!"

"Angelica." My voice was firm, but hers was concrete.

"I refuse to participate in your insanity!" she shouted. "Do not follow me!" Her legs of twine surprised me in their speed while she scurried off, and it wasn't until she was too far a distance away I realized she was honestly pursuing running away.

"Angelica!" I called immediately. "Angelica, come back here!" If that child ventures into the town on her own, getting lost, I will never see her again. In her condition, she was barely able to be taken care OF. She could never manage to take care of herself.


	8. Chapter 8

"Gone?" my stoneface wife asked. Angelica and Eliza lied together, staring at me like the grim reaper as I tried to explain our newfound situation. Angelica was gone.

"I turned the corner that she'd turned and lost her trail," I admitted defeatedly. "How she ran so quickly, I'll never know...but she claimed to be running aside Phillip." Both my wife and sister both glowered in my direction, but did not look me in the eye.

"You thought it wise to take our ailing daughter, fresh from mourning and mentally instable AS WELL as physically, and take her to her beloved brother's grave? That was constituted a good idea in your mind?" my wife badgered.

"I feel enough guilt on my own, I was trying to help her see the truth! I thought her brother's grave would make her believe his death!"

"Your guilt is just!" Angelica chimed in. "Not only is your daughter hurting, but your wife is too ill to tend to her on her own! She's forced to trust you and you're too foolish to keep your sick child in bed!"

"Angelica,"I spoke blatantly fed up with her beratement of my fathering practices. "My wife and I have raised our children well, together. You cannot say I'm incapable-"

"Your wife had raised your children while you raised your own name out of the deep pits of hell from which you sprang!"

"Angelica!" Eliza gasped. She'd not seen her sister's resentful poisonous words spat in my face as harshly as she'd been tossing them. She was usually careful to do it on the sly.

"Eliza, I am sorry," the older sister assured. "I'm sorry, but my feelings are very just! He's taken a mentally stirred child out into the world and set her free to roam into the hands of any-" Angelica stopped. She realized her words were only hurting her sister and worrying her even more; be it possible.

"Look, all we can do is look for her. I've been honest in stating my full responsibility. Although my intentions were innocent."

"Innocent intentions are just as hazardous as the fully intended," Angelica seethed. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got several places to search for my-" A knock hit the door and stopped us all in our consuming thoughts. I walked to the door, Angelica following just alongside me. Upon opening the door, I found myself both relieved, confused, and strangely sickened. Standing before me was a young man of about the age as Phillip was. He stared at Angelica and I with a look of a stunned woodland creature rather than a man. Before trying to conjure a reason this stranger was at my door, I looked two inches down to see my precious girl clinging to his chest, shivering from the cold and wrapped in the heavy coat I then noticed this boy had taken off his own back.

"Mr. Hamilton, Angelica's in desperate need of a fireplace." My sister and I both crowded the gentleman, not bothering to exchange so much of a glance before taking Angelica into our own care. This search could have been inconclusive. She may have frozen, starved, been abducted, or just collapsed dead from her critical condition. All those fears were lifted from me much sooner than I'd anticipated and I was much more than thankful. Angelica seemed too tired to speak as she trembled in my own arms, so I set the fire and lied her down with pillows and blankets gently. How had this happened? What good fortune was this? I'd not known good fortune was still a possibility in this world after the things I'd witnessed this year. Still, good fortune for me was my dying daughter returned before meeting certain detriment in the street. I'd still take it.

"Did you call me Mr. Hamilton?" I asked at second thought. The boy had stood and watched me tend to my child until she'd fallen to rest. When my attention turned back to him, his face turned a bright pink and he nervously rubbed the back of his neck. "I believe this is yours," I added as I returned his oversized coat. He took it slowly and nodded as well, before realizing he'd yet to say a word.

"I did," he nodded.

"Did she tell you, where to take her?" The boy looked at me, shocked, and pondering some unknown thought I saw driving him mad right in front of me.

"Sir, it's time I be honest," the gentleman sighed. "I've wanted for a very long time to tell you, but it's finally time I do. Angelica and I have been a-" he took a breath. This was a problem for him to explain. "For around two years, we two have been very close," he explained.

"Close?" I repeated.

"Yes, sir. My name is Matthew Knott, my father is Christopher Knott, the baker." A poor baker's son. A suitor of my daughter. Hell no.

"You say, for two years you've seen my daughter, privately?" I asked with a suspicion that was nothing but conspicuous. "So she's gone to you for-"

"I was taking leftover bread to the shelter and saw Angelica looking faint on my doorstep. She told me that she was out with Phillip and, well, sir, I can see as we all can she's not well. Angelica trusts me with her secrets, and she's told me that Phillip does many things. I know about your son, and I'm very sorry for your loss. I just didn't want Angelica to go home on her own. I didn't think she could." For whatever reason this boy had been trusted enough by my Angelica to be trusted, he'd shown me he deserved it by choosing her best interest. Still, for two years? What had a baker's kid been doing with my daughter behind my back for two years?

"Alright," I nodded. "You've brought her home, thank you. Please, show yourself the door and have a biscuit to celebrate your good deed for the day."

"Alexander!" Eliza scolded. Goodness knows my wife's ears heard all that went on in this household. "Matthew, I cannot thank you enough for bringing our daughter home safely. I'm very relieved she had such a caring gentleman to confide in. Now, Alexander, why don't we get this freezing boy some tea and see if he'd like to stay and speak with us?" _Because he's a pauper who's been most likely the opposite of theraputic for our child._

"Of course," I sighed, knowing that was a fight I'd never win. Angelica slept before the fire with her aunt stroking her long and bristly hair. She enjoyed seeing me squirm with this stranger.

"Sir, ma'am, I assure you I've asked Angelica to meet you on multiple occasion," the boy lied. "In fact, I once tried to show up on my own, but she'd never hear of it. Angelica's always been embarrassed of romance. She didn't want to be gossiped about or fawned over." Unfortunately, these boys words were very believable. My Angelica was a very demure young woman, and she'd much rather stay out of the public eye.

"So you stuck to private locations?" I inquired. "Bedrooms, parks after dark, yo-"

"Alexander!" Eliza exclaimed once more. The boy had gone pink once again and feverishly shook his head.

"Sir, your daughter is a lady, and I've never laid a wrong hand on her," he assured. "I've hardly seen her, actually, since...well since the move." He says the move out of respect to not mention our son's death in my wife's presence. He knew manners, at least.

"Well, she's obviously not forgotten you," I sighed. "Son, my daughter's in no health to be in a serious relationship. She's barely in the health to stay alive." The three of us fell silent, taking in those true words. It was then, I noticed the pain in his eyes. This complete stranger had a very strong connection to my child, Yet, I honestly couldn't remember his name.

"Matthew," _There it was._ "Angelica is not forbidden from seeing you, but if you're to visit, it must be on our terms. Just until she's back on her feet, alright?"

"If I could see her at all, I'd be elated," the boy spoke with a hopeful voice. "I've missed her. So terribly," he implored. "I've prayed and worried and almost given up hope these past few weeks, and when I saw her on my doorstep I thought she was a true ghost."

"Son," I sighed. "My daughter's health is as good as gone, and she's obviously in no state of mental strength either. If you do anything to exploit that, after all the s*** I've put up with these few months: you get the wrath," Eliza gave me a disapproving look, but she didn't dare defend this boy. She wanted him to be afraid to hurt our child's broken heart. However, my daughter's brain was blocking out her own siblings, yet she remembered where to find this boy. He had to be important. The wait for Angelica to wake was filled with awkward silence between the three of us. It wasn;t until her abrupt jolt into the air we spoke at all.

"Angelica?" Elizabeth gasped at our stirred girl.

"Mom! I just had a dream about...: she stopped and stared right into the eyes of her self-proclaimed hero. "M-Matthew."Elizabeth and I had a mutual shock delivered when we saw the two lock eyes. We knew that look. I'd dreaded that look since the first moment I laid eyes on my Angelica as an infant. Now, while I still refuse to see it unfold right before my eyes with my hands folded, it pales in comparison to what I've seen her go through. If this boy held a key to my Angelica's heart, he was going to wield it by my terms.

"Angelica," the boy frowned. I saw his hands clench and unfurl in a desperation to grab her set, but he was trying to be respectful. That didn't stop my skeleton child from clutching the frittering hands and holding them with all her little might.

"How did you get here?" she asked with confusion.

"I brought you here, Angelica," he explained.

"You were clearing your mind, on a walk," I spoke up. Clearly, she'd not remembered our argument about Philip, and I refused to remind her of the upset. "He delivered you home when you dropped of exhaustion. Your mother and I have begged you to stay inside, darling," I reminded.

"Yes," Eliza spoke up with a resentful grunt in her usually soothing voice. "I have made it very clear you're not well enough to be out in the cold yet." I could feel her firey eyes burn against the back of my head, but I didn't flinch. I'd asked Eliza to stay home as well and she'd gone out for tea just yesterday.

"I'm sorry," Angelica frowned. The boy took her gently into an embrace and I saw the expression on his face change from concern to panic. He'd not seen her this frail, and I could tell.

"You know," the boy choked. "My father made his famous praline scones just for you on Wednesday, and you never came...We were worried. We didn't want to pry."

"I should have come," my child replied. "I've been...too under the weather."

"Well, no medicine tastes better than pralines, right?" he offered with a light laugh. For the first time in too long, I saw my daughter smile. A real, genuine smile. He handed her a folded napkin and her pale face turned an almost red from excitement and delight.

"My favorite," she spoke with a giggle. I watched with a light heart as Angelica devoured the pastry in one swoop. Eliza was speechless. Neither of us cared how this miracle boy showed up, but until he proved he couldn't be trusted, he was welcome to help us. It didn't mean I liked him, it just meant I could use all the help for her I could get.

"Plenty more where that came from, I promise," he smiled, kissing her lightly on her mouth. Suddenly, I was standing side by side the boy with my death grip on his shoulder in a seemingly affectionate way.

"We were surprised to meet your friend, Angelica. This way, at least." Shock, concern, guilt and fear arose across the young girl's face as she put her head down in shame.

"If I'd told you, the famous Alexander Hamilton, the entire world would stop and stare when we were together. I didn't want the attention," she confronted.

"Still, despite that I'm in the public eye, it does not give you the right to seek a gentleman friend without my proper approval," I reminded. "Who knows who you could find..." James Reynolds reared his ugly head in my mind once again. Screw what he'd done to his own wretch of a wife, I recalled what he did to mine. Evil lurked in far more men than he. And not all of them were so obvious.

"Sir, I believe my nerves have all shot themselves in battle with your hand," Matt got the point. I released his shoulder and slapped his back a bit harder than warranted for a casual kindness.

'I believe the next time your lips touch my daughter's will be the day I let you be your bride. In seventy five years," I smiled. The two exchanged glances and then Angelica lightly smiled again. Two in one day made my heart split wide open. How could she do that with the simplest expression?

"Come, Matthew, let me make you a cup of tea," Eliza insisted. "Angelica, you may go back to resting and I'll be sure to visit the bakery tomorrow. I'd no idea your fancy with scones." She may have liked the scones, but something tells me the salesboy was the real selling point. Angelica watched her mother escort her newly discovered infatuation to the kitchen, while she stood frozen to my side. I glanced over to see her still smiling, and somehow I felt a touch of hope for her. I felt as if Eliza's healing, the lack of sorrow in my child's eyes, and the close date of my sister's departure were all spelling out a resounding hope for us all. A mending family. Mending as much as possible from the most tragic loss we could face.

"I can't wait to see if Philip is so quick to warm up," Angelica giggled lightly. She retrieved her blanket from its resting spot by the fire and continued on her way back to bed. It was then, my false sense of hope vanished. This entire family was at a loss for any such thing.


	9. Chapter 9

Angelica's health was getting better by every passing day since that boy was brought into the light. I kept a close eye on the two of them when he came to visit, but I allowed them reasonable space. Part of me had to remember she was a woman now; no matter how much I hated it. He kept her distracted. It was almost as if when she had him she didn't have the need to imagine Philip was still by her side. It plagued me beyond reason to know she was so disturbed by my son's death.

"Alexander?" And my Elizabeth, of course. She was a bit depressed since her elder sister departed back to London, but I didn't worry. I know my wife, and she'd been doing so well for a woman shoved through the mud. Her terror with James Reynolds had been long past now, and her wounds had healed. I knew the mental scars would never fade, the same with Philip's death. I also knew mine would forever burn in my chest. My son would never return to my side, walk through my door for advice again. We had to live with these things, but the oncoming tragedies seem to have stopped. Now, Angelica was healing. Eliza was falling back into her place as a mother and wife like she'd never fallen. Had I been an optimistic man, I'd have thought life was finally becoming wonderful again. Despite that thought, I knew the truth: when life keeps coming, so does its troubles.

"Yes, my love?" I asked, turning to see my pale faced wife in my doorway. "E-Eliza, what's the matter?" She was shivering, upon closer inspection. I found myself on my feet by her side, taking her hands to comfort her, but she was in an urgent state, I hadn't the slightest clue how to handle her. Especially when she darted from my grasp and hurried out into the hallway. Without thinking, I followed her and met the very thing she'd come to me for. I then knew why she'd not wasted time explaining herself.

"I see you've stuck together, how sad. I'd never stay with a cheating whore." I was beyond words. The idea sprung onto me that I was just in my office and now standing here, in front of this man, was too much. My brain needed a millisecond to embrace its surroundings before impulsively making the decision to arm myself with a nearby vase. My wife fled the room immediately, to find our children no doubt, and left me to tend to this surprising visitor.

"The only whore in this building is the maiden standing in front of me," I growled.

"Alexander," this fool chuckled. "As your wife could surely tell you, I'm no maiden. In fact, I believe-"

"I believe you've got a five second head start to run before shattered glass graces the presence of your insides!" Rage bustled in my system. I swore I'd never do this. I promised myself the only part I played in this ordeal was a compassionate and caring husband. I'd coddle Eliza to a state of stability, and we'd move on. For me to do anything else would only fuel the flames of hatred in my heart or lead me to do something I'd never be able to live with. Live with what came next.

"Alexander, I've come to thank you face-to-face for the wonderful trade. You got a girl from the affair and left me with a real _woman._ "

"I LEFT you nothing! My wife was alone because of the situation I painted myself into with the likes of your siren and deceiving EX wife."

"Oh, Alexander, do calm down. I got a hot night with yours you got a lukewarm hundred with mine." Any sense of reservation I had to not tear the heart out of this man with my bare hands fell like an anchor, sending me charging in attack. My violence escalated with every step. The man didn't seem to recall I'd gone to two variations of war in my life, and the recent one had hardened me past the point of gentlemanly rules. This man raped my wife. He had to die. The glass shattered into his head, but it wasn't enough to quench my thirst. As he fell to the ground with a scream of pain, I heard my Eliza's screams echo in my imagination. The pleas she shouted for his actions to stop. The begging she'd done to be free from the unwanted touch. The pain she suffered. The pain we all went through seeing her this way. I slammed his head once again with another blow of the remaining pieces in my hands. The glass was lodged into his head, some shards in his shoulders and some even stabbing into my own hands, but I didn't recognize the pain. I only felt anger. It was all that was getting through. Without thinking, I slammed his swollen head into my livingroom wall and knelt down onto his chest, throttling him madly into the ground and screaming into his face.

"You've RUINED me! My family! My legacy! My life! I could never have justice! No matter what I do, no matter HOW you die! I will never be satisfied!" I heard my voice broken, noticing tears stinging my face before realizing I was screaming to a dead man. I knelt on the body of a bloodied rapist, and I couldn't feel pity. I couldn't feel regret. I'd just been sitting into my office, and now I was sitting on a dead man: by my own creation. The only thing I realized, sitting there, was that even this didn't change a thing. Eliza was still pregnant. My child was still dead. My other ailing, and my sister could never trust me again. All of this was permanent. As permanent as this man's life status.

"Name of deceased, James Reynolds." A warden had been sent to our house, from the sounds no doubt. I was sure the town was raving with gossip, but I was too shaken from the past hour to think about that now. Elizabeth hadn't returned to the room, but I knew she'd had to have known what happened when she left. I only hoped she was able to convince my children the screams were nothing but a game. Alexander Jr surely knew, but he'd understand. Angelica...my Angelica had to have been terrified. Still, I didn't regret my actions. I could never regret what I'd done: it was just.

"Mr. Hamilton, we'll be escorting you to the court system. You've obviously had a home invasion gone wrong, but we can't let murder go unquestioned," the fellow officer shrugged. I shook my head in disbelief. Surely they couldn't be serious. Oh, but I was wrong. I was ripped from my own place of living. My own family I'd protected; my own love, my own children.

"We all know your history with this man," the other fool chimed in. "All of America does, truly. We've got to ask questions." As frustrated I was at the waste of my time, I had to cooperate. For me to be adverse would only land me in further trouble. Still, I didn't want to leave this house in custody. When they escorted me outside, I hid my face. The neighbors and citizens surrounding me surely recognized me, but I didn't let it detour my actions. I didn't want to proudly stroll through town, accompanied by the police, covered in bloodshed.

That was the very last time I saw the sun for fifty days. Once the police had me in custody, I was locked up and the humanity I'd witnessed in my own home had faded completely.

"Everyone knows the Hamiltons," I was informed by a cellmate of mine. "You people have all gone mad. Chasing your mental daughter through the streets, beating your wife in a park, these wardens said it was just a matter of time before you did something they could really nab you for." I got in trouble for knocking him out as well, as if I needed more.

Those questions they needed to ask me? They'd been just as imaginary as my hope to ever see the world outside these darned walls. No one wanted to listen to me, and no one would ever believe my truth: THE truth. They saw a dead man and a man that killed him, without so much as stitch for the backstory. Each time a warden passed our cell, I called out for answers.

"When is my trial!" I demanded. Nothing. "Does my wife know where I am!" That was answered when she didn't arrive to visit or plead for my release. My Elizabeth. I know she'd been worried sick since I was taken. Strangely enough, however, I couldn't worry over her safety. The threat I knew existed for her was dead. So, in the name of "justice," I was trapped in this cage with these criminals for crime's sake. None of these men stood for a purpose, they just wanted to have their way, get what they wanted or whatever landed them in this cell. None of these men had done what I had: been arrested for heroism. So every day, I woke up and stared at the wall. I closed my eyes and imagined what my family was doing until it became too frightening to think up. My mind would switch, then, to my life after I was released. I imagined that until the doubts of ever leaving weighed me down to carving into the stone with a small sharp pebble I'd found. I wrote a word each day, and by last night I'd written," My name is Alexander Hamilton. I have never in my life felt this way. I am no criminal. In fact, I sit in this cell for my actions of protecting my family. I do not belong here, and to any man who sits in my place thinking the same: I am" That was my last addition. While my writing had littered the stone walls surrounding me, I intended to never fill them. If I had to set myself free, I would do it. I was not going to stay in this cell wanted for murder when all I'd done is corrected injustice. THIS was not justice. This was the opposite.

"Alexander Hamilton," a familiar voice woke me one morning. It was the same officer who'd shackled me in this very hellhole. "The investigation your wife demanded led to a discovery in James Reynolds' documents. His last journal entry mentioned "completing unfinished revenge," on "Alexander Hamilton." The evidence proves your acts were self defence, and we cannot keep you here just because your acts were overdone." My eyes met this man's in a threatening and disgusted manner. I knew in my heart what I'd done was just, and I'd lost fifty days of my own life and time just so they could justify it in their own minds. I couldn't bring myself to speak. The door was open, my chains were undone, and I'd not been asked a single question. There'd not been an answer to a single one of my own inquiries, so for them to have any would be absurd. They got their answers: and now it was my turn to have mine. Starting with if my wife and children were still able to eat.

Our money had been tight since I'd lost my position of power, and my Eliza was fantastic at keeping things stable. Emotionally, financially, and in every other way my woman could. I only feared that power source had fallen since I'd been ripped from my own home. It felt hallucionary to be standing at my own door, knocking like a stranger. Still, I couldn't alarm anyone with my presence just entering unannounced. My son, William, was the one to open the door eagerly. What if he'd been the one to answer the door when Reynolds had arrived? My son was a mere five years old. I had to erase this man from my mind, no matter how difficult. It was something that drowned me when I stepped into the house: the memories. Flashbacks and distorted images re entered my mind of the events that occurred the last time my feet touched this ground. Everything was tidy now. Just as nothing had happened. I envisioned Eliza cleaning the man's blood from the walls and floorboards. I saw an authentic painting of her broken eyes cleaning the shards of glass. The poor woman probably imagined all the blood of being mine. She knew who'd won the war, since I'd not been the one in a bodybag. Still, she had to be so shaken.

"Daddy! Daddy's home!" William screamed. He rushed around me in circles and awoke a beast in my heart, which caught on fire in feeling. I'd missed every aspect of my life since I'd been isolated, and I'd been to ensnared in my depression to realize until this moment.

"My son! My son is happy to see me!" I cheered, giving him a firm kiss on the cheek.

"Eww," he groaned with a laugh. "Mommy! Mommy! Daddy's home!" my son continued. I watched as he scampered to his mother's room, but Alexander Jr won the race to the living room.

"Dad!" he gasped, running to hug me as tightly as he could. "Dad, we've been picketing your release since the day you'd gone to jail, you're a hero! The whole town thinks so!" Wait, what? The townspeople weren't slandering me, they were proud. They knew my side! They pitied my loving and mild Eliza as much as I'd hoped. A million questions arose in my mind, but I'd not been able to ask about my namesake before my wife entered the room. She was pale.

"Eliza?" I asked in worry. My wife didn't try to conjure a sentence before leaping into my arms and kissing my mouth with a force of a high-powered cannon. I was lost in her embrace before she released me.

"My hero," she whispered, looking over me to ensure I wasn't a dream. Her body trembled in my arms, feeling like the missing piece of me had just been filled once more. These past days in confinement faded into the air like a sick dream rather than a waste of life. It was suddenly like I'd just taken a week's vacation. "Oh, I've missed you, my Alexander," the woman cried.

"I've missed you too, my beautiful, wonderful, piece of perfection," I spoke between my shower of pecks to her face and forehead.

"Oh, Alexander, we've been torn apart without you," she sniffled, wiping her emotional tears away. Angelica. Where was my sick child, I suddenly wondered. In all the relief, I'd abandoned my pessimism and fear for the moment, but her lack of presence threw me directly back into the fire. "What is it?" she asked the moment she'd noticed my fallen smile.

"Nothing, Eliza. Are you alright?" I placed a gentle hand on her cheek and wiped her final tear while she grinned up at me.

"You coming home is all I've prayed for," she promised. "Oh, we've so much to tell you. Alexander, these past weeks have been a whirlwind of-"

"Daddy, it IS you!" Angelica squealed. I didn't get a chance to spot her before Eliza stepped aside to let her through to me. My child had energy. That alone was better than I'd left it. I held her in my arms, much less afraid to squeeze her than I'd have been before my removal. "Oh, daddy, we've been doing everything to bring you home!" she confirmed. I felt my smile return, much more confident this time. My fears hadn't just been discouraged, they'd been flipped. Not only had my name not been slandered, I'd been praised for my JUST actions. Not only had my family been alright, they'd thrived in their efforts to bring me home. They were united in their determination, which fueled their healing in their own personal battles. As I continued to hold my child, I was so relieved to feel the bit of meat she'd put on her frail bones. I kissed her cheek and when she'd finally released me, I witnessed the nerves in Eliza's eyes. Much to my confusion, she looked somewhat terrified. I glanced behind me to see my eldest son rubbing the back of his neck. My eyes returned to my child, finally getting a good look at her. Those pale cheeks and tired eyes were traded in for a rosy smile and a lively gaze. Her skin was blushed with a beautiful glow, and her body'd picked up weight in all the spots it'd needed most. Just as I looked at her, I felt an avalanche of all my joy collapse instantaneously. Among all the things I'd not been informed of yet, this was the most loathed. I took a step back in disbelief, but the step just gave me a better look at the truth standing right in front of me. My wife was no longer the only woman in our household expecting.


	10. Chapter 10

I didn't know which was more lightly to explode first, my heart or my temper. Yet, just as my mind decided to chose, my toddler ran to greet me. I'd not seen her in what felt like a miniature lifetime. My girl.

"Daddy!" she grinned, throttling around in my arms with her hyperactive spirit. "I thought you'd be gone forever!" she grunted. "You missed it! I lost a tooth! I lost a tooth and William finallybeat Alex and chess and mommy made green beans for dinner!" I humored my daughter by listening to numb the crippling frustration awaiting my not-so-distant future.

"Elizabeth, darling, why don't you go get biscuits from the kitchen? I just baked them," my wife ushered. She took our daughter from my arms and set her already moving legs running onto floorboards I'd just completed murder upon a few weeks earlier. My child was too innocent to ever know.I also appreciated Elizabeth's ability to read my eyes, because she knew I'd be unable to hold in anything much longer.

"So," I huffed. My arms crossed in tune with my audibly bitter voice while I addressed my daughter. "What else did I miss while I was gone? By the looks of it, something among the mix was a wanton cavortion with the town baker's son." My daughter's glowing look faded and her gaze of delight altered to a look of humiliation. The piece of me that had longed just to know she was still alive while I sat in jail clashed against the raging power of anger fueling me to defend my young daughter's honor in this tragic misstep. A poor man's baby was residing in my promising little lady.

"Don't worry dad, I taught the Knott kid a thing or two," my eldest son scowled from the side of the room. Elizabeth covered her face, obviously recalling an unsavory memory of our Alexander. "We all found out when he was over for dinner and Angelica scarfed down seven rolls before mom had gotten the chicken to the table."

"Then Alexander congratulated the two of us with a fork in my Matthew's hand."

"Through the skin," Elizabeth winced with the no doubt fresh memory.

"He's lucky you weren't here, dad," Alexander encouraged.

"I'm a grown woman, Alexander," my daughter scowled in defense. "I'm in the best state I've been in for over a year, and for you to reproach my Matthew for making me a permanent piece of his life is despicable!"

"That's enough!" I demanded. "Angelica, go rest, I'll talk to you soon. Son, walk with your father." Elizabeth placed an arm around my disrespected girl and led her off to the end of the hall where her room had always been. I turned to my son and saw the look of frustration in his eyes.

"The boy took advantage of your leaving," he explained insistently.

"No, son," I sighed honestly. "Honestly, a man of his social status was desperately trying to ensnare your sister. I'd worried about this the minute I heard he was the son of a baker. Still, I'd hoped he was as genuine as he'd seemed..." I felt my hardened heart break now, pitying my child. I knew she had to truly believe this scoundrel loved her. I'm sure all he loved was her womanhood and her father's social career.

"Well, mom seems calm now, but when Angelica made the announcement she was the one to tell him not to return until you did. She said no man could take her daughter's hand while her husband was still alive unless he said so."

"Therefore, he'll never marry my child so long as I live," I sneered. "Still, my daughter's name is just going to be tarnished even worse. The town calls her crazy, and now they'll label her an unwed whore. Son, I've been gone for a matter of days, and to come home to this just reminds me of a lesson you need to learn." His eyes took note of my words and he leaned towards me in curiosity. "There will never be a time when you can worry enough to stop a situation. All you can do, as a man, is take action. Just, whatever you do, use sense when you do so." I referred of course, to my own personal mistakes. My son looked to me as a hero. Yet, all I'd done is murder in vengeance. Earnestly, I felt passion enough to award Matthew the same fate after disgracing my child. Still, as well as she looked, I knew she could just as quickly revert to the dead girl walking she'd been months before.

"Sir," my son nodded in understanding. "Just, to be fair, I used the dull fork. I never intended it'd go all the way through his hand." My son returned to his studies in his room, still sturdy in the same routine I'd left him with. As promised, I entered the battlefield known as Angelica Hamilton's room to find her sat up in bed with fearful eyes.

"Angelica," I sighed. I placed a thoughtful hand on my forehead to gather my own thoughts before carelessly tossing words about. "This boy, this "Knott," is after one thing. Two, actually, and one he's clearly gotten already. He's only after himself."

"Daddy, it's not true!" Angelica didn't bother to listen to my fears when I tried to explain what I was clearly witnessing.

"Angelica, this boy hid his face from me for two YEARS while he weaseled his way into your life! He stole your heart behind my back because he knew I'd see straight through his fame hungry agenda!"

"I was the one who kept secret, for this reason! What could you ever see in a "lesser" man, hmm? I'm not so above him he'd needed to "trap" me as you so lovingly mentioned to Alexander! He truly loves me! The world's turned its back on me! They all call me crazy because I still have Philip in my life! He does not! He still loves me! He tells me I'm beautiful, he tells me I'm why he's made it so far in law school. I'm his reason for living, and daddy, he's mine!" Angelica was panting, the passion had her so fired up. For a moment, I couldn't differentiate if the passion was that

of her mother's or my own. Then the truth made itself clear when she folded her arms and relaxed back into bed with a scorning glare: she held both. When I heard her speak, it reminded me of my loving and gracious father in law, Philip Schuyler. He'd had the right to reject any and all suitors of his Elizabeth, and he let me through. An orphan. A man who'd been penniless his entire life. He entrusted his perfection in my own hands. What right did I have to assume the worst of a man who'd actually saved my child during the weakest moment of her life? He'd stuck by her side throughout the ordeal of my son's death. Through her sickness. Of course there was a lot to judge him on, but there were so many flaws Philip Schuyler accepted of mine, I had to open my mind at least an inch for my daughter's sake. For my grandchild's sake.

"This was too much to come home to," I groaned in agony. "Angelica, you're my child. No matter what you've done, I will always love and support you. I just cannot believe you've let this happen to yourself. Still, now you're going to have to obey me. I need you to stay at the peak of health until your child is born. You cannot get sick again, not with this complication." Angelica's eyes tinged with fear rather than anger this time. She'd obviously pictured her health diminishing during this pregnancy, and I saw that truth come to light when she began to tear up.

"My baby's no complication." I shivered just at that phrase coming from my own child's mouth. "My baby?" How could _my_ baby be using such a sentence in an everyday sentence. I shook my head to release myself from the trance I was circling in.

"Perhaps in your mind, but Angelica, a pregnancy can end a fragile woman's life in one fail swoop. So, I refuse to give this one a chance at that, alright?" My daughter looked fearful as I cautioned her, and despite her strong pout of denial, I saw tears had clouded her beautiful brown eyes just as they'd threatened earlier. The very participant that caused this condition would soon be paying the eternal debt of these grimace-worthy specks of sadness flowing across my Angelica's face. I'd only just seen them stop from Phillip's passing, and now she's a whole new reason to cry: fear of her _own_ death.

"Snack time!" My daughter and I glanced up from our staring to see Eliza with a small tray of pastries for the two of us, but obviously she was itching to be part of our conversation. My beautiful wife laid down the tray and granted me a kiss. "I've missed you, so much, Alexander," she sighed in content. "You truly saved me from everything I was fearing with just one act, and I'd have been in jail by your side if you'd gone another day without those imbeciles releasing you."

"Yes, well, obviously not everyone was so enthusiastic for my freedom," I retorted.

"Daddy, surely you don't mean me," Angelica spoke out. My wife and I looked towards her to see she'd already eaten three of the crumpets Eliza'd brought and was now watching me with an offended look painted on her face. "I was with mom when she petitioned your release! I signed seventeen names that weren't my own. Matthew signed fifty three." My brow raised, glancing back to my casually grinning wife.

"It's true, Matthew even went door to door rallying gentlemen together with Alexander! The two of them were quite the team." I felt somewhat of a guilt for my thoughts. Perhaps my anger was blinding me to see a decent judge of character. After all, he'd taken note of my girl. He knew special when he saw it. "He's actually not heard of your release yet, I'm sure," she admitted. "Which means he may not be so terrified to make his daily round to visit his expectant..." Elizabeth seemed lost for a label. Which was fair, considering Angelica was no wife, and certainly not going to be one any time soon. Forget the tradition of a shotgun wedding. I'd been walked out on by my own father, so I wasn't going to attempt to force him to stay. It'd only cause a disdain for sticking by her side.

"Hopefully, he'll bring you something to eat as well," my child teased as she finished the last crumpet with a satisfied grin.

"You are aware there's still much to do, for you to be officially reinstated in this household, are you not?" Eliza questioned, only loud enough for my ear. I looked at her with a thoughtful expression, then became aware of every meaning that question had.

"Oh, and I intend to fulfil each obligation very thoroughly," I responded back into her's. Her blush was evident and Angelica looked upon us in confusion. However, she clearly did not ask for answers and instead excused herself for a drink. "She looks so..."

"Happy?" Eliza suggested. My face fell, feeling an animosity for the reason.

"For a false joy brought on by a foolish act of lust?" Elizabeth looked down this time, obviously ashamed of the situation herself.

"Alexander, she shouldn't be alive. He'd saved her life and the way he looks at her? I've not seen a man so undeniably in love since a young bare faced boy asked for my own hand."

"Who was this?" I asked, causing my tense wife to laugh in delight.

"Some fool named "Alexander Hamilton,"" she shrugged. "My father gave him a chance. Is that so unfathomable?" she suggested.

"For a baker's son?"

"You're right, Angelica should have chosen a penniless hothead, plucked from a war, to impregnate her," Elizabeth retorted. She loved showing me my own thought distortion. It gave her joy to see me hang myself on my own words.

"Philip Schuyler was a brave man," I admitted with a hint of laughter.

"Yes, but he saw the man I see now, not the one that stood in front of him. The man that saw his wife through a loss of a child...a man who killed his wife's rapist. A father, a strong husband...he saw you, Alexander." I kissed my wife, and in doing so I'd realized it was one of the first- if not THE first- times I'd done so since our separation. How had we gotten here? To look at where we were in this moment, when we'd started just as flirting young fools, it seemed like seven lives later.

"I think I'm ready to see the baker's son, now," I decided.

"He has a name, Alexander," Elizabeth insisted with a slight irritation in her voice. I could see, although she was hurt by the circumstances, she liked this boy.

"He doesn't," I responded in a serious tone. "But...perhaps one day he might."


	11. Chapter 11

I woke up every morning this week to the sound of my wrenching, pregnant daughter. What else could a father ask for?

"Mother!" Angelica whined from her room. I glanced over at my pale-faced wife to note her fearful eyes. Seeing Angelica having such a sickly pregnancy made her just as nervous as I. She was one hundred percent stuck in her situation, being so far along. She was also stuck in her frail and sickly body that had only just survived supporting her singly. Now there were two hearts to fuel in that tiny frame of hers.

"Alexander, come with me, please," Eliza asked, extending her hand to me. Angelica had been too apprehensive around me, fearful of my wrath towards her lover. I'd yet to see him in the few weeks I'd been home, yet I heard his presence daily. It was not my idea to avoid the baker's boy, on the contrary. I was prepared to reintroduce myself as the man just released on murder charges and war hero with a rage for my daughter's careless predicament. Which is the reason Eliza had kept me at bay. I assisted my wife to our child's room, where she lie in her sweat and shivered. She looked absolutely miserable all over again.

"It's happened every morning, mother," our girl groaned, turning to her side. That stomach of hers may have been sprouting, but it was the only flourishing piece of her entire fortress of being.

"Angelica, it's normal," Eliza soothed. She was so incredible, stroking her hair and comforting her while she herself was spawning a cretin's child. The nights I'd lied awake in bed, relishing the memory of destroying that man, sometimes frightened me. I've always taught my children taking the life of someone was never alright, and it's not. However it happened, I should be revolted by myself for my actions. I'm simply not. Knowing my Eliza- the only woman I've ever truly loved, and who has given me seven wonderful children- was targeted in my name...perhaps that was what I was so proud of ending the life of. "Isn't it, Alexander?" she questioned, to make my presence more noticeable to our distracted young girl.

"No it is not!" Angelica argued with a pained groan. What I heard from Angelica's voice, I saw on Eliza's face: pain.

"Angelica, many women get very sick," I promised. I reached out to soothe her only to escape being covered in her vomit by one swift jump backwards.

"I want my Matthew," she cried, flopping back onto her pillow. I wanted her Matthew too, in that moment: and my pistol.

"Angelica, please rest. Maybe we should take a moment to-"

"Angelica!" a man called out from our living room. Speak of the devil.

"Let me greet our special guest," I demanded. Eliza and Angelica stared wide-eyed up at me as I turned to leave. I saw from the corner of my eye, my sick daughter try to undress her sheets and follow me, but Elizabeth stopped her before she could try.

"Angelica?" the boy called to the sound of an opening door. The moment we saw one another, his stupid grin fell directly to the floor. Along with his color, he was completely drained at the very sight of me. There was an obvious understanding he wasn't off the hook for using my little girl as a field to carelessly chuck his seed. From the looks of him, my feelings must have been showing through, and from the shaking I could tell he knew my crimes were true. He had a right to be afraid.

"So, we meet again," I smiled down at the fool, patting him once on the back with a loud thud. He tensed and tried to begin some phony smile before I brought him to a halt. I observed the stitches in his hand from my son's fit of rage and accidently let a grin spread across my face. This kid was a snake.

"Mr. Hamilton, I've been waiting for you, sir. To-uh- to...for-"

"You do realize words are meant to communicate, not spurt, don't you son?" I caught my tongue between my teeth. I'd not call him son again. Any idea of promise I had for this coward was erased when my daughter stayed up crying alone. He'd gone four days without speaking to her after an argument over her health. I didn't care what the circumstances were: he owed it to her to stay by her side. If he was worthy- and he never has been, is, or will be- he would never leave her side. Especially not in this state.

"Sir, I've been wanting to ask you, about Angelica's living circumstances, when our child is born." My look to him shut his unintelligent mouth instantaneously. He was a fool.

"Oh, good, so what was your question?" I began with a sarcastic chuckle.

"I wanted to know…if you'd do me the honor of letting her stay by my side." This fool was a brave little monster. I saw his hopeful gaze dissipate at my mocking laugh.

"Of course!" I spoke with a fraudulent encouragement. "Why would I not reward the disingenuous dog that evaded my house in my absence? Shouldn't the flunkey with the stiff pants have easy enough access to his pure, naive and anemic _dumping grounds_?" The boy visibly cringed before me after hearing my understanding and assessment of his situation. When I'd left this household, my child was cadaverous. I knew he saw it just as much as I, and for this stooge to appoint himself a banquet of my Angelica's innocent was enough for me to end his life now. Yet, he stood here, asking for MORE? Not begging forgiveness, not cowering in fear of my recent accusations: demanding. Demanding the crumbs he'd left untouched.

"Sir-"

"No, you've finished your speaking. It is my turn. My daughter is officially with child. That's obvious. Any man with half a brain would know better than to pursue one of my two daughters, and since you seem to have a bit less than half, I may be willing to show you mercy. Which means you get to live, not pillage her at your beck and call! You may see her when I say so, supervised, with your hands by your own side." I stepped closer, each time he stepped back. I'd take him to the wall if necessary. "You know my name. You know my legacy. You know I am not a man to be trifled with, and judging by that paw of yours, you know a bit better than to underestimate my boys. As far as Angelica's concerned: her health is yours. Should anything happen, I will never give a second thought to rewarding you the exact same destiny. So I suppose my real answer to your nonsensical babble is: no! She's not going to be staying by you."

"Sir," the goon began, as if he had anything to argue. "I'm worried about her. I want to be here, should she need anything! I want to step up and take my obligations on! Not sit at home and wonder if she's alright without a thing to do for her." After being shut up in a cell for so long, I'd felt a touch of sympathetic understanding before I stomped it out immediately.

"So you'd like to live under my own roof with my own daughter and, what exactly?"

"I'll bring her meals, and rub her back when it's sore, and whatever she needs sir, sleep guard by her side, anything!" We stared at one another before I rolled up my sleeves and he retreated at the threat.

"Sounds to me like a job for a husband," I observed. That word plainly sparked his ears when it hit. "That's what I thought," I responded plainly. I stepped directly to his gaze, almost pitying the terror in his own eyes. "My daughter may have been too uncorrupted to understand your game," I spat. "Yet, it's time you know that waiting until my back was turned to coerce my child was no way to win me over. You can shove whatever of yours you'd like into whatever other unsuspecting girls are out there, but whatever the hell you thought you were doing with mine is never going to be replicated. You are no father, kid. You're a benefactor and a deviant. Now go apologize to my child for keeping her up crying and waking her up vomiting and get out of my house. For good!" This Knott kid looked mortified at my anger. My entire goal had been to make him fearful to ever lay eyes on my angel again, which I was sure I'd done before his disrespectful mouth made the miserable error of opening to me.

"I will apologize," he nodded. "Then I will lie by her side and comfort her the way a woman should be comforted by the foolish man who sends her down the path of motherhood." That small glimmer of my younger proud and defiant self was what I was aiming for when I gave the lad a swift punch in the personality, or the jaw if you prefer. I watched as he held his feeble cheek as if I'd shot him, which may have been a better use of precious time. However, his feminine scream stirred my wife from our little girl's room.

"Alexander!" Eliza lightly scolded, in a manner you'd scold a toddler for spilling juice. It was for Angelica's sake, considering she wanted to deliver a similar blow to the same face.

"I'm fine, Mrs. Hamilton," the boy boldly mentioned. He was still holding the source of pain, wincing from the vicious pangs I was sure to have caused. "Now, excuse me. I've got a lady that needs me." He was wise to use my child as a human shield, but as he'd learned firsthand, it was not something he should expect. In fact, I'm sure he found it a miracle I didn't throttle him for the direct contempt he was showcasing in his actions. The only points he'd scored were the ones he earned being that the very thing he was fighting for was for my daughter's sake.

"He won't be for long," I heaved under my breath. I felt my wife's fingers fumble against my ironclad fists, trying to pry their way into my hands.

"Alexander," she softly spoke. "He's caring for the woman he loves. Doesn't that show a bit of respect? If anything?"

"It shows he's a bloodthirsty monster after more," I retaliated. "Besides, I'm not sure why you're defending him, when you despise him the same way I do."

"Alexander," Eliza frowned. She stroked the side of my face with her cheek and pouted a bit. "He's been so encouraging. He's been so gentle and true to her…" I saw the tear in her judgement. She despised this man for improperly insisting his place in our Angelica's life. Although, despite her frustrations, she was relieved to see someone caring so tenderly for our girl. I just didn't buy it. When I was that boy's age, I knew nothing about fatherhood. He knows nothing about fatherhood. Which makes it all too easy to abandon my child- as a child- with a child of her own. It wasn't happening.

"I've got no reason to believe that boy's intentions, Elizabeth. You've seen how she's been abandoned and-"

"I've seen how she's been well taken care of in your absence, Alexander," Eliza brought up. "When she was dying, he rescued her. Don't we own him the least bit of gratitude?"

"Not at the sake of our child's honor! I will not allow the boy who splashed her reputation in red to get off and do as he pleases. He's a boy, not a man!"

"He's a man, and he's my love!" I heard Angelica fight. I was not willing to argue from a distance, and ventured into the room they lied beside one another. It sickened me to have the image of those two entwining under those sheets. As much as my mind pushed the thought away, Angelica's stomach was the reinforcing information that I couldn't escape. They'd been much more than handholding. The way he held her made me physically ill. I didn't like to see my _child_ becoming a woman, but I especially didn't like to see a boy making her one.

"Your love is to keep an appropriate distance if he wishes to stay on speaking terms with his own internal organs, dearest," I seethed. The boy shot out of bed in respect for the sake of Angelica's place in our audience. Such an actor.

"Then…he can stay?" Angelica asked with that small hopeful smile. After the morning of intense vomiting and emotion, I could not deny her for the sake of my own reservations. I could only move over and let him stay by my own terms.

"He can stay, in the basement and under a list of rules I will begin writing now and most likely finish next week. Until then: everything is against the rules," I insisted. "Ask before you breathe," I insisted. Perhaps he'll forget and just abandon the process altogether.

"But daddy the basement is-"

"The perfect place to keep infestations. So I suggest if the two of you are so demanding to be united, you will keep the safe distance unless your mother and I are around, correct?" These children looked back at me with the exact worry I'd hoped for with my harsh words. They understood.


	12. Chapter 12

Two bumps. One small, one slightly larger and further from possibility to deny in my mind. Yet, it didn't stop me from trying. Trying with all my mind and might to believe my love wasn't spawning a dead man's baby, and trying to live in a fictional world where my eldest daughter wasn't giddy over the product of lust residing in her. I know these bumps will be so much more than bumps in the not too distant future, and that is a piece of my mind I can never venture to. Elizabeth going through the pain of labor as a product to all of the pain she'd gone through of receiving that monstrosity seed. The thought alone makes me unable to bare looking at her in any place besides her eyes. They were the only windows into the woman I loved now that her stomach was growing and her skin was shining with the glow only a woman carrying a child could have. Each time I remembered the joy it brought me to know she was carrying a child of our own, it made me close to vomiting with a feeling I could not even imagine. Not jealousy or frustration, but a combination entwined with an unnamed rage.

"Alexander?" Elizabeth called. "Alexander, Angelica's still not home from the baker's." I turned towards the sound of her beautiful familiar voice, almost forgetting a moment what I'd see after turning around. My glance went directly to her eyes, avoiding a second accidently catching that protruding bulge just beneath that gorgeous pair of eyes.

"When did she say she'd return?" I asked, having lost track of time. Not that I needed an excuse to retrieve my own child, but my headstrong girl was much like me when it came to frustration. If I tried to make her come home before she'd asked there would be a war the entire walk home and after.

"It's night, Alexander!" Elizabeth insisted. "She should have been home before dinner, she'd promised and she's not. I'm worried something's happened." Despite my own surge of fear that my recently healing child was either who-knows-where or at her delinquent boyfriend's home, I was brave for my fragile wife. She didn't need a trial of strength in her condition, and something else happening to our child was certainly exactly that.

"Calm down, my love," I spoke softly. "It's probably nothing. Just the boy lollygagging like the imbecile he is." While Eliza constantly had defended the boy, she'd recently been much less accepting of his practices with our little girl. The boy blatantly admits that he's proud of his actions in becoming a young father. Proud of becoming the man to have a child with Alexander Hamilton's daughter. Of course he was. Why a boy from the gutter would be unsatisfied by a beautiful young woman of such a powerful position answered itself. In fact, why would he not do everything in his means to step in during the most fragile piece of her life to completely distract her from the absurd and crude acts his slimy heart desired. I ventured out into the freezing cold, feeling the sting of frosty air spark another fear in my heart. The scene of Angelica's runaway flashed into my mind. That was what introduced me to this pathetic boy in the first place: Angelica's insanity. Seeing her deceased brother in her woken state. With a girl so unwell, what vile creature could pretend to care about her for his own selfish gain? I strolled the ground she'd had to have walked on to get to this boy's father's place of business. It was a disgusting path, unworthy of even the soles of her shoes to step upon. This side of town was home to immigrants, thieves, cons and much worse. It was no wonder the boy had grown up here. The bakery had been closed for quite some time by now, so the baker was most likely upstairs when I rang the doorbell. I stood there, waiting in the bitter chill of the wind for the fool to finally stagger to the door. With that stupid looking grin.

"Good evening! How can I help you, sir?" the brutally accented Italian asked me.

"You're Christopher Knott, Matthew Knott's father, correct?" I asked, not wasting my time and body heart to introduce myself.

"Yes, what is this about?" he asked, the grin beginning to slip.

"It's about my daughter, where is she?" I demanded. I stepped forward, hoping I was as intimidating as I should have been to such a physically inferior male. Suddenly realizing who I was, most likely from my eyes, he flung the door open for me to enter. I hurried inside, but the house was hardly warmer than the snowy air I'd just stepped out of.

"Angelica, bambino, your papa's here!" the man called out. "That girl honestly must be exhausted," Christopher warned. "She didn't eat much at dinner and-"

"What's "not much," for you people?" I asked in concern. With her weight so scarce to begin with I never let her miss a meal. These paupers couldn't have enough to begin with, so how long had she been without-

"Daddy?" I could barely make out her figure in the poorly lit room, but as she neared me I saw her red nose from the cold. This man surely didn't think this was acceptable, to be keeping a girl of mine in such miserable conditions. Frozen and starving in the slums? That's what she'd chosen? I took her chilled hand into my own and began to lead her outside. "W-Wait!" she demanded, turning to grab her coat.

"Were you honestly not fully dressed in this house? It's colder in here than the frigid air outside!" I scolded, as if she were a child rather than a young woman.

"I was sleeping under five blankets upstairs, if you must know," she fought. Suddenly, I felt the cold melt off my heated skin.

"You were sleeping?" I asked, glancing over to the significantly taller character behind my girl. "And you?" I demanded.

"I was helping my father with the baking, sir," his voice creaked.

"Yes, I let the angel sleep upstairs while the boy and I baked for the morning rush," the jolly fool assured. "She was exhausted at dinner, the sweet girl."

"I'm just fine, Christopher, I promise," my daughter assured. This man approached her and kissed her cheek, earning a wince from my unsuspecting eyes. She had some sort of bond with this man. Although it wasn't romantic, it was still driving me crazy in a strange sense. Was he trying to constitute as some sort of father? As if he could just share my position or even take my place? Never in my life had I been so ready to hit someone with the occupation of baking biscuits. As far as I know, anyway.

"Yes, she's just fine, sir, and I'd appreciate your lips residing on your _own_ face, thank you."

"Daddy!" Angelica scolded in frustration.

"It's quite alright," Christopher ushered. "My apologies, Mr. Hamilton."

"Yes, well, thank you for…watching her. Perhaps your son would like to stay here?" I suggested in high hopes.

"You've told me I could stay," the boy spoke in a very demanding voice.

"I did, and you can," I smiled, knowing the place I've allowed him is no better than a cell in prison. Cold, small and confined far away from my unstable daughter.

"Mr. Hamilton, I assure you, she's been in loving hands," Christopher implored. I turned back to him and saw desperation in his eyes to prove my child was safe while she was here. Obviously he was invested in the capture of Angelica's hand just as much as his boy. I raised a brow and put a gentle hand on Angelica's swollen stomach.

"I can see that," I glowered, then taking her hand once again and striding in front of the boy. He trailed quickly behind, yet never came close enough to face my enragement at the miserable pit he'd been fooling around with Angelica in. That man's face stayed glued in my mind, however. For two years that man was in the life of my daughter, while for two years that boy wandered behind my back like the coward he truly was. The despicable case was more than enough to convict him as a serpent, yet here we were, walking home as three, not two and a body bag. I was doing something wrong as a father.

"Goodnight, love," Matthew smiled the look of a cheat as he bade Angelica goodbye.

"Sweet dreams, darling," she blushed in return, turning my stomach to watch her peck his cheek.

"That's enough, Angelica, you've got to sleep!" I demanded. I noticed the entire tundra walk home that her legs had been listless and shuddering. I knew her pregnancy had given her the determination to gain health back, still I saw such a lack of it still standing. In fact, it seemed to me she was deteriorating once again.

"Yes sir," she grunted, obediently returning to her room while I focused closely on the boy returning to the basement. After a long wait, ensuring everyone remained where I demanded, I plunged into my own bed alongside Elizabeth. She giggled as I groaned, blissful for the comfort of my own bed.

"Daughters are the difficult breed of offspring, aren't they?" I asked, unwilling to allow my words the effort of lifting my face to allow audibility.

"Surely you're not exhausted by a little girl, are you?" my wife teased, pleased to see me stepping in as a father to protect our mishandled daughter.

"Yes, a little girl in our basement that's got no business or balls to be a father," I demanded.

"Alexander!" Eliza gasped, hearing my fierce anger in shock. She'd not go farther than that, however. Eliza trusted anyone, but she didn't trust this intruder. Perhaps her situation left her a bit cynical, but I believe it's due to her pure heart. Even with those optimistic eyes, she could see ill intent plainly.

"Is it so wrong to call the fool his deserved label? He's so brave to come into my home while I'm confined to an unjust cell, but the moment I return home he hides his face until he can use my own daughter as a shield! What sort of game is he playing?"

"I believe it's the game of heat. All young men play it, and obviously Angelica's lost. Alexander, you've got to focus on the good here," she pleaded. "We're about to be blessed with two little miracles at the same time. Forget their conception or you'll never be able to cherish their innocent hearts." How does she do that? How in the world does this woman of no adversity take a child born to a girl and a poor man and make me anxious to meet my first grandchild? How does she scramble my thoughts into a diluted order where I want to meet her own infant? The product of the most horrific act man ever witnessed inflicted on the purest of souls. I wanted to love that child because it was _her_ child. It wasn't ours, yet I knew in my heart and in hers as well, it would be "cherished" for the child it was and not the act that created it.

"Yes, well," I gulped. She loved to talk sense into me. To contort my thoughts and emotions into what she wanted to see. How could a woman scorned from her cheating lying husband be so affectionate? "Perhaps we should give them a bit of a rest. Maybe I'm fabricating his actions worse than they truly are…"

"You may be, but at least you're an attentive father," Eliza grinned. She kissed my cheek and resided to a resting position. I watched her fall asleep and noticed a smile on my face. In all the chaotic frustration, she was still peaceful and serene. Comforting me enough to sleep, without stirring in my own negative distracting thoughts.

"GET AWAY FROM ME!" were the words that sprung me out of bed in the middle of the night. On my feet, I stumbled over my own shoes in a drowsy attempt to my daughter's room, of which young Alexander was already prying open. Prying open to find that cad standing beside Angelica's bed. He was panting, his face dripped with small speckles of sweat, and the minute amount of clothing he wore consisted only of unbuttoned pants and his socks. Angelica hid under her sheets, audibly sobbing for whatever he'd just executed.

"Mr. Hamilton, I've not-"

"Shut your incongruous mouth and step outside!" I challenged, not wasting a moment in fatigued hesitation. I turned to my appalled and enraged namesake, pointing to the trembling bedsheets I didn't have the stomach to look towards, "Make sure she's not injured," I demanded in nothing short of a growl. I didn't need his stories, I didn't want his lies. I saw for myself, clearly, this boy had broken the last leg from the bridge. He was history.

"Sir-"

"What did I say about that ****ing mouth of yours?!" I did not stop walking, dragging him by the nape of the neck down the hallways in all his shame. "You will never lay eyes on this house again, forget my daughter, you'll be lucky if you see the light of day again. You've seen firsthand what I'd done to the man that used my wife for erotic pleasure. I'll be freezing in hell before I allow you to have another moment in her presence. You are FINISHED with my family, and if I've heard so much as a rumor about you seeing her behind my back- and I WILL be watching, myself- I will end you. I will end you before any evidence, any explanation or any thought. You will be gone." With that, the door was slammed in his petrified and fearful face. Momentarily, I quivered in confusion at the innocence in his eyes. For a man to have such reckless abandon for the primal mischief he was infecting a pure young woman, he looked more like a confused and concerned father than an agitated and disrupted degenerate. I turned to witness my wife standing still in our daughter's doorway, holding her mouth in shock. Quickly, I waltzed by her side to usher her away, but she nudged my hands off her arm.

"Dad," Alexander spoke with a baffled demeanor. "She's ok…" She's ok? That trembling heap of sobs crying out for a boy to take his abominable hands off her body was ok?

"Is he gone? Is he angry?" Angelica bellowed. I stepped closer to my repulsion revelation Angelica was completely exposed just beneath those sheets. Her dress lied beneath my feet and her eyes were flooded in tears. This was not ok.

"He's gone, Angelica, I forced him to leave, you're safe, my love." Those brown eyes reopen from their grimacing state to stare fearfully into my own.

"You sent Philip away?" she asked in confusion. "He didn't actually do anything wrong, he only threatened him, dad, you shouldn't have put him out in the cold! Where's Matthew?" Sitting up now, I saw Angelica become frantic, and unsettling in her state. Had she seen Philip? I thought that was done.

"Alexander, leave us," Elizabeth demanded, sending our son away for Angelica's privacy and his mental state. The moment he'd shut the door, Elizabeth grabbed hold of Angelica's face, granting her the blissful motherly gaze. "Love, what are you talking about?"

"P-Philip comes in nightly, to tuck me in," she stuttered, causing Eliza and I both a shudder. "He was none too pleased to find Matthew. I thought I'd locked the door but he got in," she didn't pause for a breath. She was talking quicker than I could comprehend, buzzing with anxiety. "Matthew didn't care that he was threatening him, and didn't stop. He just…and I tried to push him away but then he got angry with me and I had to-"

"Angelica, Matthew is gone now," I assured. I could care less if he'd any "right" in his own disordered mind for Angelica's virtue. He was not to be engaging in anything under my roof: even if it was more consensual than I was initially led to believe.

"Good, good," she whispered, gathering herself in the process. She inhaled deeply and exhaled roughly. "I'm so embarrassed. Philip must be beside himself." Eliza and I exchanged a fearful look before returning to our expectant daughter. She needed more help than we knew. I knew no evidence of his death could remind her, and frankly the memory tortured me as well. Still, something had to change. She couldn't be this disturbed and take care of an infant, the poor girl.

"Get some rest, my love," Eliza cooed, gently stroking our girl's hair. I could see her heart crackling just from her clenched jaw. My wife. My adored wife, miserably watching while our child disintegrated over our departed son. She wanted so greatly to change everything and take care of it all. Still, all I could do in my own power was make sure she was taken care of first.

"Yes, let's all do just that," I insisted, taking her hand from Angelica's locks. With a gleam of sadness and regret, she followed me back to our room. I silently hoped that I'd wake up to find this was all a dream, but as I lied back in bed, the sobs of my bride were all the sounds I needed to know this nightmare was permanent. I was stuck.


	13. Chapter 13

"Alexander…Alexander…" a voice gasped, awakening me from my sleep. I'd finally gotten to sleep after the relaxation of my mind eased to the least vice-gripping it could have possibly been after all I'd witnessed during the middle of the night excursion. My head felt swollen I was so exhausted, but I pulled myself out of bed when I heard my wife's broken voice. "Alexander, please, wake up," Eliza cried quietly. I turned to see my tormented wife with an expression of sheer mortification twisting her beautiful face. I knew something else was wrong, but from her underlying calm attitude, I knew it wasn't to do with our children. When it was Elizabeth, she was always calm. It was only when our children were in danger she was truly disrupted

"Elizabeth what-" I immediately noticed the blood covering her tender hands when I turned to her and held my breath. It was hers. I didn't have to ask, I knew it was hers.

"I-I" I didn't hesitate, ripping the sheets off of myself and rushing over to her side of the bed, quickly lying her down.

"Where is it coming from?" I demanded, inspecting her bloodstained hands first. Keeping my guard down at this point of my chaotic and hazardous life was a completely unacceptable idea, if this wasn't proof enough. My love, bleeding and waking me up frantically. Just after I'd tossed a destitute boy out in the cold hours earlier for taking advantage of my certifiable child. Eliza whimpered, beginning to cry an intense spurt of tears. "Eliza-"

"Alexander, it was the baby…" she blubbered, unable to say more. She cracked before my eyes, sobbing with a fever I'd not seen from her since her last nightmare.

"The baby…" I repeated softly, finding it hard to choke the words out of my own mouth.

"It's gone…It's gone…" Those words in my ears felt so challenging in my mind. As if they were shot and left ricocheting throughout my wide and crowded mind. I wanted to rejoice. I wanted to cheer and dance with joy, my wife was no longer saddled with an unwanted leech. So why was my heart quaking?

"Elizabeth-"

"Please don't tell me," she cringed. "Don't tell me it's a good thing…Don't tell me this is right. Alexander, a child has died. _My_ child has died, before I ever got to- to-" I had no choice but to soothe my morose and sobbing love,. To see her so beside herself, over this, made me almost as sick as the conceiving actions. He'd not only done that to her, he'd done this. Flashbacks to the shocking moments in bringing her home, I shook in tune with her shivering body. That heart, that sweet and tender heart of golden trust had been battered by death, insanity, rape, and a second loss of a child: if you could ever refer to that creation as a child. She loved it like one, I could plainly see. That was Eliza, though, always caring and loving of the things she felt responsible for. She took charge of what needed her and in her mind, this monstrosity that was forming inside her was just another infant she'd raise and love. Now she'd never get the chance. My heart broke for hers but not for her loss.

"It's a tragedy," I soothed, stroking her hair. "Elizabeth, I'm so sorry, love," I insisted. She shook her head slowly to respond.

"N-no, Alexander," she whispered. "You don't truly think that…You despised the very thought of this child..." That intense anguish in her shivering voice, I heard my lover's pain. She truly believed this didn't affect me. She truly felt alone. Why should she not? The man who'd done this abandoned her in a park, beaten and alone. The man who'd done this is deceased, by my hand. Why would a man that killed another over the very thing that had just ended care about the end? What would lead her to believe I care in the least that she was suffering over this?

"I could never despise any piece of you," I told her. What had happened in my sleep? Surely she'd been up and about to realize this had happened. I got a damp cloth to wipe the blood from her hands and allowed her my own handkerchief to try her dismal tears. I wanted so intensely to dry the pain from her heart as easily, but I couldn't. My poor Eliza had loved this child. I couldn't let her go through this on her own.

"Daddy?" I heard Angelica call from outside our door. Elizabeth stiffened like a board at the voice. She wanted to check on her, even in her hysterical state. Immediately, I placed a firm hand on her trembling shoulder and left her with a peck on the cheek.

"Rest, I will be back to you, love." I stood and realized my legs were unstable in their uncertainty. I walked to the door and sucked in as much air as my stomach could hold, then blew out the entirety. Angelica stood on the other side of the door, looking exhausted and just as confused as I.

"P-Philip told me to hug mom," she spoke in seeing me. "He woke me up, he said she needed me." My thudding heart paused completely for a moment. She knew, somehow, that this had happened. Surely it wasn't really Philip's spirit, yet, it puzzled me how she'd have sensed something to this degree. Perhaps she'd heard Eliza's silent cries?

"Angelica, your mother needs to rest," I persisted. It didn't stop my stubborn girl from pushing myself aside and joining her emotional mother with a hug.

"M-Mother? I'm so terribly sorry," our girl grimaced as she threw her gaunt arms around her mother. "Is there something you'd like? Something I could do, perhaps?" she inquired. Elizabeth hastily took hold of the remaining expectant Hamilton woman and held onto her for her own life. Truthfully, it was blatant that Angelica was a far better comfort to her mother than I in this moment.

"Did you tell her?" my wife demanded, frustrated in my supposed oversharing.

"Philip did," Angelica corrected, leaving an eerie silence in the air. A silence to only be refilled by my wife's audible sobs. They were for more than just the child lost to her now, I observed. They were for everything "Mother, you've always been my rock," Angelica sniffled, herself. "I am here for you this time, alright?" she insisted.

"Love, stay with me," Eliza begged. She held Angelica's head just at her heart and clung to her with tightly shut eyes. Three children, she'd lost. Shot, unborn, and cracked. They were terrible burdens to bare. Burdens I only shared part of, and still felt the pain crushing my very spirit. "My darling," she whispered as she kissed her look-alike's pale face. I couldn't find the medication to cure either woman, but in seeing their reaction of one another, I had hope they could find peace. They were emotional medication for one another. A cruel and wicked thought came to mind as I saw my wife comfortingly stroking Angelica's still lively stomach. One was gone, but the other still plaguing us. I had to brush it away, despite myself. That was my grandchild whether I liked it or not, and my angel was in love with it, the way her mother and I loved our own children. Like Eliza loved the child she'd been expecting. The child that would never be.

"Perhaps I should call a doctor," I suggested, in fear for my wife's remaining health.

"Alexander," Eliza protested. "There's nothing to do…this is the end. It's irreversible. Which is understandable. I lost my boy, I was laid with a man against my will, and my own husband was taken away for a murder. A murder just downstairs." I watched as my used to be chipper and youthful wife laughed just to ease her tremendous pain. Angelica was equally as grim in mood, trying her best to console her mother, but better placed as a sense of comfort as she was. Eliza had also spared us the mention of the adulterous husband and the batty daughter.

"Love, if something's wrong, I want to know so we can get medication-"

"If there is something wrong?" Eliza asked incredulous. She then held Angelica as if she were a child clutching her doll. "Alexander, my baby just died. My baby just died, my first baby's been _dead_ and my second baby has been dying for months," she grimaced. "There's death surrounding this house. Death and misery." My Eliza, saying this, didn't make any sense in the world to me. My sunshine was clouded by this unfamiliar cloud. Angelica cried into her own sobbing mother's shoulder, as they both held one another for dear life. In a way, it looked like I was watching a reflection of the same woman sob. Elizabeth and Angelica mirrored one another perfectly despite Angelica's frailty and Elizabeth's shorter stature. Seeing these two women so dear to my heart wallowing in their rightful pain made me feel so miserably useless. I took hold of my wife and child, wrapping their conjoined form into my arms. There was silence despite their sobs, before it was broken by a slight gasp from Angelica. Eliza broke from her daughter's grip and they both stared at one another like startled woodland creatures. Abruptly, Elizabeth's shaky and tender hand roamed to her child's bulging stomach and she almost bellowed in emotion.

"What was that?" Angelica asked, fright lacing her voice.

"That was a kick, Angelica," Eliza explained. She formed a smile on her previously grimacing face, but her eyes looked so tormented. Even in the painful loss of her child, she was joining Angelica in the joy of her own pregnancy. It had to have been excruciating, watching our Angelica so young having a child from wedlock as she lost the pregnancy she'd been carrying with a hope for a positive outcome. It seemed to be the closing of a window of hope. There was a rape, there was a beating, there was a torture, and then a murder. Surely, the child had been what good needed to make the situation seem to be more than just hell on Earth. Its death just sealed the malice. Angelica's child's sign of life was an eye-opener to life after the situations. It was a winning outcome in a world without hope.

"My baby can kick?" our daughter asked innocently. My sweet Angelica. She'd always been youthful, and always been wide-eyed. In a word, her being pregnant was the equivalent to throwing a child into college without a word of explanation. Or a book.

"Yes, love," Eliza giggled, trying to maneuver her tears away from her ever-brightening face. "It can kick, it can feel, it can hear, it can even bond with its sweet mother." Angelica stared in mortification while her mother rubbed the protruding stomach.

"That explains Matthew's obsession with kissing it," she giggled. "He's so proud." That name. That boy. Of course HE'S proud, he's gotten a chain wrapped around my pure girl's throat. Angelica knew nothing from sex. I'm sure of it. In fact, the only thing I could even imagine Angelica agreeing to do was kissing him on the cheek. I could almost hear the shifty snake now, "Let's just hug, on my bed, with our clothes off."

"Well, love, I'm glad he cares," Elizabeth cringed. Angelica sighed, with a distant look in those big brown eyes.

"Speaking of, I should go tell Philip you're alright…I know you're heartbroken, mother, but he's still shaken up from last night. I'll worry about you for the both of us." When Angelica stood, we watched her walk out of the rooms like nothing was the matter. When the door shut, I longed for the silence to return over my wife's heart-shattering screams of anguish. She was bellowing, trembling from the millions of knives stabbing her in every direction. I knew I was no comfort, as one of the very knives was executed by my own hand. Still, I refused to witness this and do nothing.

"Elizabeth-"

"She's crazy! She's crazy and I wish I was as well! Then I'd be able to see my son! I want my son!" Eliza groaned. She couldn't even begin to bring words back after the pained scream she let out.

"He's with us, on the other side, Eliza."

"If he is on the other side, then let me jump the fence! I should have been with him the day James Reynolds laid hands on me!" My shaken heart burst just at the thought. He almost did kill her.

"Elizabeth, we all love you so dearly," I assured her with a slow kiss on her cold cheek. My words could not heal this darling woman's heat. As much as I wanted, and as much as I tried, I would never be able to give her peace in this life we'd found ourselves in.

"I need to rest," Elizabeth insisted, staring down in emotion at the small specks of blood I'd missed cleaning off her finger tips. The very last thing I could have ever wanted was to vacate that room and return to the brash reality of my dead son, pregnant unmarried young daughter, and all the other millions of drowning realities that lived outside that door. "I need to rest," Elizabeth repeated, locking my fate. If her wish was for a moment of peace: I had to oblige.


	14. Chapter 14

I found that boy on my doorstep. On his knees, close to tears like the deceiving dainty woman he was. Supposing I owed him some apology for mistaking him a rapist, I could do no such act. No matter if I called him a rapist or murderer- not that one outranked the other- I owed him nothing but termination for adding a pregnancy to my youthful daughter's calamitous season of life. Yet, here he was. Pleading and imploring a chance to speak to my Angelica _alone._ As if I could ever allow my back to turn on his threatening hand. His plans for my child were as far from optimal as humanly possible, considering his first act of trust was used cramming his seed into my rawboned beauty.

"Sir, please," the boy spoke again, breaking the barrier of my deafening thoughts. "Sir! My father has not spent a cent of his money on anything but scarce food a-and bare necessities. He's sacrificed so much in preparation for my child. We're prepared to take Angelica and my baby in for as long as it takes until I graduate and can afford my own house and give them both a lavish life. A life they deserve!"

"Well, then, Knott," I scowled. "If you were so determined to plan and support my daughter and _her_ child, I would have assumed you'd have waited before bounding her and gotten your job first! The way a wise man would. The way a man with the utmost amount of stupidity could never concoct, obviously!"

"My Angelica-"

"MY Angelica has spent mornings vomiting- alone- restless nights sobbing- alone- and she's been alright until you return and give her the slightest hope at some fantasy life! You do recall our first meeting, do you not? You carrying her, hardly clinging to life, skin and bone? What an easy girl to screw for inheritance, I suppose."

"You know no decency, Hamilton!" the boy demanded, standing for respect. Standing up for Angelica was something I was compelled to respect, but with the flea before me deserved no such idea.

"You speak boldly for a man at _my_ mercy!" I warned. His blue eyes shined, suddenly, realizing that the very fact Angelica was baring his child gave him an upper hand. Should my daughter go off into life a single mother, I could never see her thriving. It was a grimly and sickening feeling to think of my daughter living a poor unfortunate life as a single mother, yet it was the only outcome in her worsening mental and physical health. She had no ways to support herself, and with a little bundle on her hip, men wouldn't flock to her beauty quite as fast. This residue of a human being wanted this all along. Yet where was I to protect my unsuspecting child

"You hold a brave front for a man built upon nothing but arrogant pride."

"Watch your tongue, I owe you nothing but pain!" I threatened. It was true. If he expected some sort of slack, he should know all he would be receiving was the exact opposite.

"Well, I've come for my love, and my innocence in action is as much as hers!" he insisted. "Your daughter is a woman, and she has made womanly choices. _Choices_ that I gave to her, not told her she needed!"

"Daddy!" Angelica groaned from her room. The boy's face crumbled before me, pressing me out of the way in my distraction and running to the sound of her voice, with my feet at the same tone.

"My darling!" he called, arriving at her door. The darn fool let her eyes catch him, and taking him away at that moment only would have hurt her heart against me. He had to worm his way out of his. "Angelica, my Angie, my love," he grunted between the abhorrent kisses he planted on her face. For him to have called her "my" anything once again, I could have taken his life in a swipe just then. I was fed up by the sheer disrespect and coldshoulder to my rules. "Where does it hurt, darling girl?" he pleaded. Angelica's pained face puckered in that moment and she led his hand to her lower stomach.

"Do you feel her?" she asked lightly. The sincere astonishment on the boy's face only reiterated the immaturity the couple had. I felt like I was watching children discover a small animal at the park rather than two young adults observing the miraculous life they'd misconceived. "She's _killing_ me!" My daughter's pained squeaks may have been a figure of speech, but the words they came out as were a fear that never left my mind. Those slender hips, that fragile body. I'd seen sturdier woman die from less.

"Our precious gift," he spoke with an incredulous pride. "The one you must feed," he reprimanded. He'd brought her yet another container of those darned scones his daffy father baked. Supposedly her favorite, though with her lack of confiding information I knew nothing of. Another thing, why could this boy get her to obey so well, as if he had any sort of authority, while I nearly force-fed her just to keep alive?

"Of course," Angelica whimpered, taking a bite and cringing once more in agony. "It really hurts," she moaned. That warranted my presence, and gave me an excuse to shove the boy forcefully with my passive aggressive stiffed elbow.

"What's it feel like, Angelica?" I demanded, placing a firm hand on her hindering mistake.

"Like a sharp jab. Like she's wielding a knife in there." Suddenly, I felt my grandchild move, and guilt rose in my throat. Flashbacks to the joy, the loving joy and warmth that spread through me feeling my own children move in the realms of Eliza's womb reflected upon this. Momentarily, I felt a brush of joy rather than hatred for the act that had created this beautiful being. To myself, for one moment, I imagined a little girl. With Angelica's eyes and smile and beautiful mind. I wanted that for her. "Ow!" snapped me back to reality. No fairytale was being witnessed in the physical world I found myself in. Angelica was in pain, and two doors down, her mother lied in depression, unable to help herself much less her child. Unfortunately, that didn't stop her instincts.

"Angelica, are you alright?" We turned to see my weakly pale wife standing in the door frame, trembling on her legs like she'd not stood in weeks. "You look sick, darling," she gasped.

"Mother, please," Angelica bellowed, cringing in her pain. "Go back to bed." Eliza seemed much more alarmed than I, however, to be seeing Angelica in this state. No doubt to be mortified her child was going to share the anguish in her own heart from the loss, she didn't budge. Angelica was her top and sole priority in this moment, and that was abundantly clear to me ask she clutched our crying daughter in her arms. Matthew and I resided to the side of the bed, unwilling to interrupt their tender embrace.

"Angelica, you're _covered_ in sweat," Eliza witnessed with a sincere frown.

"Mom, please," Angelica begged with a loud bellow. "It hurts, it hurts so terribly." My wife's brown eyes wandered to mine in their lost state. She revealed her true fear to me and then released it into the world.

"I think our Angelica's pregnancy is much older than we assumed," she growled, directing her fury towards the pathetic twig to my side. The flabbergasted blue bulbs of worthless life scanned Angelica's signs and then closed. He was probably wishing he'd chosen a different day to bed for forgiveness.

"She's alright, surely," he finally chimed in. The kid dropped to his knees and crawled like the vermin he was to my Angelica's pained body. "My love, can I do anything?" he pleaded. "Anything at all?"

"Get her some warm damp towels and get on your knees to plead forgiveness for making her suffer this way!" I grunted, kicking him in the back to move him along. He stood instantly, with an obvious pain on his face. He stuttered and gazed back at my sweating and screaming daughter.

"She- it's- is she-"

"Yes, she's gone into labor, now go!" I demanded, shoving him out the bedroom door and watching him clumsily scamper to the door. I swiftly returned to my broken angel and clung to her hand. "Squeeze, my love, squeeze as hard as you'd like." Her frail fingers tightened against my clammy skin. No one had expected this so quickly, not even Angelica judging by the searing terror in her eyes.

"Angelica, when was this child conceived?" Elizabeth asked, very sincere to hear the truth. Under the scattering anguish our daughter was enduring, she was rendered unable to lie.

"N-nine months ago," she groaned, leaning her head back and belting. Both Eliza and I jumped. Nine months ago, Angelica was pregnant with this man's child before we'd ever been _introduced_. He'd impregnated our sickly daughter in her most fragile of states.

"My darling girl, no wonder you were such an absolute wreck. Angelica, surely you had to-"

"I didn't know, mom!" Angelica pleaded. "Not until I started gaining my weight back, and I still hadn't gotten my feminine friend back…" She cringed, speaking such things around me. As if she weren't in the most exposed situation a female could go through. Angelica had always been the most modest and quiet girl. Yet another reason her pregnancy was so unforeseen and bizarre.

"I'm back, Angelica!" Matthew shouted, reentering the room and falling to the floor by her bedside. He glanced down at her grip on my hand with envy. He wanted that hand- that position- and he would not be getting it.

"Ow," she bellowed once again. "Matty, I can't- I can't,"

"Shh, shh," Eliza pleaded. "You _can_ do anything, Angelica, I've seen it." Her mother wiped her hair from her sweating face and knelt beneath Angelica's gown. Neither of us had ever delivered a child, but we've seen seven born to us: her included. Surely this would be alright.

"She's right, my bambino," the fool beside me lured. He was such a phony in his attempts to seem like a caring partner.

"My-my hips are killing me," Angelica whined. I got a twinge in my own chest to hear her sincere agony those few words contained. All that pain. Past and present, with future up and coming. She was squealing now, nearing delivery much faster than I'd hoped for. The limited time to even attempt to look for assistance was completely lost to us. Eliza's lost eyes glanced up at mine. I was amazed by her ability to pull herself out of her own trauma for the first time in what felt like forever and just jump into this. Of all things. That was my Elizabeth. Her eyes lit up once again in anxiety when she returned that gaze to our daughter's shifting body.

"Love, love, you must try your best to push, alright? Listen to your body. It's going to be alright." I watched with her as Angelica fought to stay conscious and press our grandchild from our body. That pain, with those slender hips and that tiny frame, had to be unimaginable for her. Perhaps that was the reason each squeeze she gave my hand I squeezed the back of his neck with an increased bout of force. He deserved a bludgeoning. Eliza's face showed the excruciation her mind was drowning in as she saw her daughter baring this burden. None of the disturbance halted in the least. That is, until we heard the blood curdling screams coming from the abundantly gorgeous little child plucked and placed in Eliza's arms. She'd wrapped the pale-pink child into a towel and was shivering as she stared into her big blue eyes. That angel, my Eloisa's, first breath in the world was something I was never going to erase from my memory. It was the first time I realized the beauty that was my perfect granddaughter.

"Eloisa Elizabeth Knott," Angelica gasped, searching the world for a breath.

"M-my mother's name?" Matthew gasped. There were tears covering his face, for whatever reason. He'd pawn it off as joy, I'm sure, but surely it was selfish success in being tangled to Angelica now through this perfect little knot.

"It's perfect," Angelica nodded with a smile. "It means warrior…and she's stuck through it even when I'd given up. My brave little Eloisa…" The child was skin and bones, the most frightening weight I'd ever seen an infant. Still, she was alright. Breathing, calm, and able to scream a good deal. I watched my panting daughter turn a lighter pale by the passing moment, causing my joy to twist into fear. Panic, truly, that rushed me to her side.

"Angelica?" I spoke with tremendous desperation. There was audibility of my terror and nerves while the other two adults clued in to what I was baring witness to. Angelica was losing consciousness and quickly.

"No," Eliza gasped. "No, no, Angelica!" Her dress flew as she sprung onto the bed beside our ghostly pallored child. "Angelica, can you hear me? Squeeze my hand, darling, let me know you can hear me." I tasted my breakfast once again at the all-too-familiar memory of this. Hadn't this just occurred? Hadn't we just buried our child? I refused. This would not stand: I'd not lose another before it was my turn to go.

"Angelica!" I cried out, lifting her frail and fading form. "We're going to find emergency services: and you are going to know your little girl." That was a promise I made, and a promise I refused to go back on. I didn't hesitate leaving my wife and granddaughter, knowing she'd be alright until I returned. A traumatic state of grief and loathing, but alright nonetheless. I didn't mind leaving the executer of the act either, but he'd followed me out.

"She's going to be alright!" he lied to himself aloud. My pace was so speedy I was shocked he'd been able to keep up; I didn't bother coddling him over this, though. He deserved to wallow. "Angelica, my darling, I'm here, I'm here."

"Stop depressing her, she's in enough pain," I grunted with a low grumble. "Go back to the bakery. You've done quite enough for one day!"

"I came back to be with her!" Matthew finally was sticking up for himself. For his "right" to be with Angelica. If only this was the time. I'd have laughed right in his face.

"Listen to me boy. My daughter is good as gone unless we find some help and fast. So I suggest you take your focus off claiming her and run screaming through town. We're going to be planting her in the ground otherwise, and rest assured you'll be buried too." I didn't hear anything but his panting, and the weak whimpers directly in my ear from my daughter's mouth. I heard her breath so weak, so microscopic, and it stole my total attention, leaving my legs running anywhere they could without a destination. Finally, Matthew had done what he was told: and I longed to enjoy his foolish appearance while passerby citizens stared. However, by now I wouldn't smile at golden bricks. Nothing could bring joy in the detriment I was witnessing.

"Mr. Hamilton!" the fool called, half a mile away from where I stood still. "I found a doctor! I've found-" the boy's words stopped and his actions resumed, yanking the doctor desperately towards me while we ran to meet one another in the middle. As I lied Angelica down, I observed her new form: snow white and stiff. Just an hour after going into labor: she'd been reduced to an urgent and deadly stance. Looking her over, I knew what was going to happen. I just wanted to believe this doctor could help. An infant waited at home to meet her mother. They deserved one another. The doctor was checking Angelica's signs and I just stared, holding her frozen hand. The fingers mine were around had fought so hard just an hour before, and here they were without motion. Without reason. Without life.

"My love," I whispered. "You've got to meet your daughter."


	15. Chapter 15

She was lying there on the filthy ground. She'd just had an infant torn from her slender body and she was lying still by my knees. In all my years of battle and political terror, I'd never been this afraid since my son's death bed scene.

"My angel," I breathed, watching her ghostly face cringe from pain. Even in her weakness she felt pain: that was torture. I took a moment to be grateful Eliza wasn't here to witness this, should it be our girl's last moments in the world. She was gone, I could see. Any man with eyes, a brain, and an ounce of sense could see.

"Angelica," the one missing the ingredients cooed. "Angelica…" I hated her name on his lips. "Angelica, my love, my princess, my beauty…Angelica," he sobbed like the weakling he was. I cried like a man losing a child. He cried like a boy watching his bike break.

"Get away from her, you've done this!" I demanded. "Don't pretend you care about her! You've DONE this! You wanted her pregnant! You knew her body could never deliver! You _knew_ -"

"Daddy," Angelica gagged. I couldn't believe my deceiving senses in the moment, looking down to ensure she was talking to me. She was _talking_. "It hurts…" she spoke, oblivious to the knowledge I could plainly see she was hurting. There was blood covering her legs. Blood I didn't dare look at.

"Angelica, my angel, it's alright," I cooed. My hands were so large compared to her, practically able to encase her entire face with a single grasp. My angel. My perfect little Angelica, named from one of the brightest women I've ever known, and living up to it in each way. My little girl.

"Our baby, Angelica, she's beautiful," Matthew shuddered, earning her brown eyes in his direction. How _dare_ he?

"Angelica, breathe," I instructed carefully. "Breathe in, breathe out, breathe and hang onto my hand. I've got you, my angel." The paleness in her skin did not subside. It didn't fade. It stayed, exactly as it was, slowly robbing the world of a priceless treasure. A memory not long forgotten. A wound still freshly punctured. My daughter was lost to me. My son was lost to me. My grandchild? I'd rather be lost with them than allow her to fall into the hands of the fool by my side.

"Daddy," she whimpered, trying to lean up and latch onto me. I met her where she lied, hugging her fiercely and feeling her bony figure tender in my arms. Limp. Devoid from the regained energy. Demolished from the miracle she'd been able to bring to us. She was never meant to bare children.

"Angelica," Matthew sobbed once again. "My bambino, please…" he reached out for her hand and I watched her groomed nails disappear, wrapping around his hand. His were much larger than her as well. Everything was.

"I don't want…I want to see my baby!" she whined, pleading for life. I tasted the burning of vomit rise, to hear her _begging_ for life.

"It's alright, my angel. Just rest. Just lie back…" On the ground. She deserved to be back in her bed. She had the right to die by her baby's side, but I vainly brought her for help. What could the doctor have done?

"Mrs. Knott-"

" **Miss** _Hamilton_ ," my voice corrected firmly.

"I'm going to inject you with a serum that will put you to sleep. It will make your blood slow down and give it enough time to gather what it needs to refill your body. It's the only chance I can see…" he sadly admitted. Matthew's grip tightened on her frail hand, staring at the doctor with hopeful eyes. They'd tried to save Philip too, but I trusted no butcher.

What a fool I was to think my daughter was so weak. Three days old, my Eloisa was being fed by her pale and healing mother. Suckling and gaining the needed energy to grow her tiny little limbs firmer. That little precious being was exactly what Elizabeth needed as distraction. I think she was finally coping, accepting the fact her child would have had a difficult life being the baby of a crime. Yet, I knew she was too tender a woman to ever view it a "good" thing. Nothing of it was good.

"How's she latching?" Eliza smiled, tending to the new mother. Angelica was completely clueless as to what that meant, but with the giving abundance her mother had passed onto her, she'd be an amazing one.

"She seems to be eating enough," Angelica assumed. "I always feel miserable when she's done, like she's drunken my entire body's supply." I stood by my child and placed a hand on her slender shoulder.

"She's so tiny, surely she needs an ample amount to grow," I insisted. "You're tiny too, Angelica, so you've got to eat as well." My daughter's tired brown eyes glanced up at me and curved with her beautiful weak smile. I always melted in her smile.

"When she's done, I promise." My eyes gazed down at my little granddaughter. Though there was barely much there, her hair was a raven shade, curly and just as gorgeous as her beautiful blue eyes. Though they were the same eyes as her wretched father.

"Darling, I've-"

"Boy," my voice growled. "What did I tell you about entering her room while she's nursing?"

"Daddy!" Angelica scolded. "Be nice, Matthew's only getting a blanket for her." The man cautiously moved towards the couple, fearing my stance by her side- rightfully- as a threat to his health. "It's not like he's not seen them before," she added, further disrupting both of us. Of course, I knew, but I didn't like the reminder. Or the image. Or the repetition.

"Now go wait in the hallway, until she's decent," I barked the moment the blanket changed hands. Angelica groaned, but I didn't care what arguments they had. If they wanted to be together for their child, I understood. I just refused to make it easy when I know full well that boy's intent to do nothing but damage Angelica even further.

"You don't have to protect me, father, he's got the heart of a saint and the love of a million-"

"He's quite the slick one," Eliza assisted in my defense. She stroked Angelica's long curls and kissed her cheek, all the while getting a stiff response. "He loves you, I know, and I see he loves Eloisa. I'm just not certain his background gives him the most wonderful reputation." I looked at my Eliza. She was so trusting, so wise, and so abundant in her love for all her children. She refused to let a snake take her daughter from us in a twisted game of greed.

"So then why must you two treat him so terribly?" Angelica demanded.

"The boy impregnated you, Angelica! He hid about for two years before even attempting to make an introduction! How _should_ we two feel? Welcoming? Accepting of his trickery?" I watched her gaze recede, turning from me and back to her own child.

"He wasn't alone in my impregnation: of which your grandchild you claim to love came!" Her snapping earnestly surprised me. I knew she'd defend him, but hearing Angelica in any sense speaking words like "impregnation," or mentioning the fact he'd "seen _them_ before," was something I truly felt would always be foreign. She was scarcely a woman. Hardly an adult in her attitude, and so naive to the cruelty of the world. "I want to be alone with Philip now." Then there was that. Eliza looked up at my already grimacing expression and petted Angelica's hair once more.

"Should we take Ellie with us?"

"No," Angelica insisted. "He loves to be with her…" I bit my tongue, cringing a moment at the thought. He truly would have loved to be with her. Eliza and I excused ourselves into the hallway and shared grimaces as we watched our giggling girl exchange pleasantries with her deceased brother. "She certainly loves you more than she should," Angelica grinned. "You're so flighty you've hardly seen her since she's been born." A blank stare spread across Angelica's face, before she looked agitated. "Philip…Matthew loves me," she grunted. "Stop it, you sound like your arrogant father!" she demanded, I know my son, and I know he'd have long sense berid of Matthew. No man was good enough for his sister, and he was well aware many took interest. I fully believe Philip would have skipped a duel and simply shot this fool for his mockery of Angelica's virtue.

"Excuse me," Matthew sighed, attempting to take a blanket in to my granddaughter and child.

"Don't," Elizabeth warned, yanking him back. "Listen, Matthew, I've seen many miserable things happen to Angelica: you being one. However, I do not want to see her scrambled mind mash you and my deceased little boy in the same room. Let me speak with her and _then_ you may enter. Do you understand?" The boy stood, flabbergasted and nodded. We watched my tender wife coerce Angelica into making "Philip" leave to do his chores. Truly, it disrupted me greatly to watch my daughter writhe in agony from her mind showing her a world where her brother lived and her family could not acknowledge. Almost as deeply as it stung to see my terrorized wife be further pressed by a piece of her in disarray. As she sat beside her daughter and Eloisa, I watched her loving eyes tense in great discomfort. I understood the pain and fear of seeing her cracked. Yet I'd not miscarried from an unjust rape brought by the man my husband had an affair with. My Elizabeth. My pure, perfect Eliza. The least deserving and the most powerful to withstand.

"Mom," I overheard. "Thank you…for being the perfect mother. I hope I can be a piece of you, truly," I heard her speak aloud, smiling lightly. "That would be enough…" Though Eliza did not verbally respond, I saw tears well in her beautiful eyes, just hanging onto them for Angelica's sake. In that moment, I was just as grateful for Angelica as I was despising her condition.

"She's perfect," I heard the idiot to my left whisper. "She's perfect sir, and you may hate me for it, but I cannot stop fighting for her. So I won't." My eyes chased the boy, but my feet stood still, watching him enter to the side of my child and his own. "My beautiful girls," he charmed as he sat beside Angelica, kissing her cheek. Eliza glanced up and her happiness melted to a slow and steady distaste. I was thankful to have an equal partner in my disdain for that man. Especially one with enough grit to make a man like me commit the murder that tried to take her from my hand. No, it was true. Eliza was going to be fine, and she was going to help me make sure our touched daughter was the same.


End file.
